Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, The Next Generation
by D.R. MCCANN
Summary: When a technician stumbles over an ancient humanoid at an archaeological dig on Rabijan IX, the Federation fears that a new and advanced enemy has emerged on the edge of known space. Sending the Enterprise is a logical course of action, for its Captain has the requisite knowledge and background to get to the bottom of the mystery. (Chapter 1 of 27)
1. Chapter 1

_**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**_

**Chapter 1**

A smutty yellow fog enveloped the site. Ochre clouds swirled in mottled layers, the most translucent stratum highest in the sky. At ground level a heavy oily smog shifted imperceptibly as a change in pressure brought on by the heat of the rising sun pushed the mist over the plains and up into the obsidian and dacite canyons. A single sun rose over the fractured black walls but the planet's murky haze and the its distance meant that there was neither light nor clarity, only a bewildering pattern of shadow and gloom. The shuffling of drifting grey sand broke the silence. But no creature stirred and no plant clung to the rocks or dug roots into the impenetrable soil.

Millennia of winds and water had softened the obsidian and granite in places, and nearest the ground crevices had lost their razor-sharp edges. Over time cracks had widened into narrow canyons. The heat from the dim sun, but mostly the seasonal wind and torrential rains had chipped away at them further, creating ravines between the towering slate-coloured walls. These small valleys were also barren: no life blew in the winds or coalesced in the stagnant pools. A sour stench not unlike burnt rubber swirled up the canyons and died.

In this northern region snow sometimes fell, sooty and lifeless. For half the year it lay on stony ground that was impervious to moisture and its life-giving potential. At the equator the rocks heated, cracked and were transformed into soil, but no life survived to burrow into its warmth. In the heat steam rose, inert and unproductive, and was dissipated on the wind.

Away from these canyons Rabijan IX was largely a planet of flatlands, with a few muddy lakes dotted along the southern boundary of its well-worn and oversized continents. In its few northern mountains there were no large bodies of water, only rivers that began well, bubbling up out of the rocks clean and pure before flowing south. As they ran their waters filled with impurities, making the southern rivers and lakes unfit to drink. The air, once bursting with oxygen, now held barely enough to breath.

Lights from the rigging ricocheted off the tawny haze, and reflected back on to the camp laid out on the grey soil below. The site was snug up against the dacite cliffs. Originally a couple of tents tucked away in a small dusty ravine, over the weeks the camp had spread out onto the plains. Three large domes, two clear and softly lighted from within, were nestled together with a raised pathway between. In the larger one on the left, crates of goods were stacked in storage and a workroom and labs had been cordoned off near the door. The central dome served as a communal area, with a cafeteria and lounge, and a small office. The third was dark, for the Polaroid filter was activated and kept light from passing in or out. There the off-duty scientists slept and attended to their private affairs.

Sitting on the plain at the end of the walkway and under brightly lighted beams was a single shuttlecraft from the _Oppenheimer_, an Oberth-class science vessel, which, having other duties in the sub-sector, periodically returned for a few hours to a synchronous orbit above the site. It was due back soon.

Between the shuttle landing area and the domes were tall, white standards with lights, linked together to ensure no shadow was cast within a two-hundred metre diameter on the ground. Though it was only dawn on Rabijan IX, a dozen scientists had already gathered there, bent over the hard soil, watching the three people kneeling in the dusty soil.

The elder of the three was human. Intermittently he sat upright on his haunches and pointed out to the other two where they should direct their attention. His steel-grey hair fell across his wrinkled brow and from time to time he absent-mindedly pushed it behind his left ear in an attempt to see what the others were doing. Though he was a slight man and dressed in a dishevelled blue jump suit, Dr Pakat retained an air of authority and no one doubted that he was in charge of the dig. Most of his professional life had been spent crawling through alien ruins but the exo-archaeologist was impatient with the slow and deliberate pace of this excavation.

"There, can't you brush a bit more quickly?" he asked, pointing to a mound of debris in front of the younger man on his right.

This second human, Spinner Martin, didn't lift his eyes, but kept focused on the task at hand. In his mid-30s, he had worked on digs throughout the quadrant for the better part of a decade, either as a student volunteer or a trained specialist, and slightly resented the old man's interference. Exobiology was well established now that the Federation was more than two hundred years old, and he had been well trained at its two major institutes, where he specialised in humanoid species. In recent years he'd spent most of his time studying the tissue of the living rather than in the field with the dead, and had been pleased when he was invited to work on this dig. He was not going to be hurried.

Spinner brushed slowly, suspecting that an ancient and possibly extinct humanoid species, brand new to the Federation, was about to be exhumed here. He bent purposefully to the task, dusting the hard black soil from the white bone trapped within. "It looks like a tibia," he said.

"No need to think in human terms … at least not yet," the woman on her knees beside him said. "Too little to go on."

Madam Rimina was a striking 90 year old Vulcan, though her features were softened by her human grandmother, whose subversive influence extended to teaching her granddaughter how to laugh. Rimina had even been known to cry but her natural reticence meant few had ever seen her tears. Dressed in a red overall with a silky orange and yellow scarf tied around her hair, its long tails flowing down her back, she looked less like a paleo-biologist than a connoisseur considering her latest purchase of modern art.

She sat back on her heels and surveyed the site. "Make sure that other side is blocked off better," she pointed to a technician, who extended the boundary markers to take in another meter of soil. Turning to the group of young scientists behind her, she pointedly asked "don't you have any other work to do?" Most, who did have tasks on site, took the hint and left.

Altogether there were 22 scientists and technicians at the dig, most of whom had arrived in the last four weeks. That was when the pre-fabricated domes were erected and the bulk of the supplies brought in by the _Oppenheimer_. Before that the expedition staff consisted solely of Pakat and Rimina, and five academics, living in tents and using the shuttle as an office. The core group of seven resented the presence, bordering at times on intrusion, of the others but they understood the growth of the team had been inevitable.

Evidence of early habitation on Rabijan IX was discovered a year before, when one of Pakat's Ph.D. students, Tamotsu Matsui, looking for a topic for his dissertation, had done a survey of the greater Rabijan system. Spinner glanced up and saw the young student on the other side of the dig, brushing dirt from a half-buried slab. Matsui and his three assistants began excavating the site six months after he had discovered it. They soon uncovered a few low walls buried in the gritty black sand and Matsui reported that he thought they were the remnants of an ancient, indigenous civilization. Not long after that they discovered a number of twisted and tortured machines, the detritus of a technological society.

Since two of the inner Rabijan planets were inhabited by humanoid races, Matsui and his advisor Pakat assumed that sometime in their distant past one or the other had been spacefaring and had settled on Rabijan IX. Nowadays neither of the societies left the confines of their worlds. Planet-bound and so far out on the edge of the Alpha Quadrant, they were not a high priority for the Federation, which felt it had to do little more than formalize its relationship with them. And because neither currently displayed Warp capability, they were rarely visited by Federation ships. So when Matsui asked the Federation Science Academy for consent to research the historical connection between their societies and the ruins on Rabijan IX, it refused permission. Pakat reluctantly agreed with the Federation scientists: they should be left alone to develop – or if the two exo-archaeologists were right, to redevelop – at their own pace. Though unable to prove it, Matsui continued to believe that the ancestors of the beings on at least one of the two inner planets had once thrived on Rabijan IX.

Matsui and his team continued exploring the canyons and shallow caverns in the hills, and found that the site held not only the remains of an industrial settlement but that the technology was significantly different than any other in the Alpha Quadrant. Pakat reported Matsui's findings to the Science Academy at Federation Headquarters, and immediately it ordered the professor to take over direction of his student's site and to lead an expedition on behalf of the High Council.

Spinner knew it was normal for the younger man to feel resentful when Pakat assumed control. But Matsui's frustration turned to delight when asked by his advisor to remain on the site and to write up the team's findings for his dissertation. In due course the young scientist came to appreciate that while he didn't lead the dig, he was part of a larger and more experienced team than he could ever have recruited on his own. He also was proud to be acknowledged as the discoverer of what was turning out to be spectacular find.

So, just two months after Matsui had begun his excavations, Pakat willingly took charge; he immediately invited Madam Rimina and others to join the expedition. She had been working on digs since she was a child, when she following her archaeologist-mother from one ancient site to another. Now in her middle years she was known for her extraordinary intuition that repeatedly generated insights that would otherwise have been lost. Pakat expected she'd do the same on Rabijan IX.

Dr Pakat's first act was to reconnoitre Matsui's site. What he found confirmed what the Federation already feared: there were too many bits and pieces of what appeared to be technological marvels left in the ruins for the site to belong to an early industrial civilization. Soon Rimina and Matsui reached similar conclusions. Sitting together in the shuttle to avoid the swirling dust they had come to detest, they had shared their views with Pakat. Rimina had made them tea, using leaves she always carried with her from Vulcan.

"Sure, some advanced goods can be traded into a pre-industrial society," Pakat had asserted, "such as guns into the tribal areas of the American West or iron tools into the highlands of Papua New Guinea. But as time passes few will remain. And after a few decades, perhaps a generation or two at most, only odd scraps of the non-indigenous technologies will be extant."

"But that's not the case on Rabijan IX," Matsui argued. "Here we are uncovering bits all the time of what look like computers and other advanced hardware, all buried in crumbling fissures."

"What I don't understand," Madam Rimina asked, "is why there's black dust and stone and pumice, covering everything, just like the place was buried by a volcano?"

"But there are no volcanos," Matsui interjected. "I've checked. No volcanism at all…at least, not for a very long time, from what the geologists tell me."

"We need more data on how old the rock is," Rimina said as she sipped the hot red tea.

"We are working on it," Pakat continued. "Right now, though, it remains a mystery: what the technology is, what it does, where it came from. How it got covered up. And yes, as I was saying, there is way too much advanced machinery, or bits of it, to assume it is not indigenous. This much detritus can't have been introduced from outside." He gulped the fragrant tea and poured himself another cup.

That night he had summarized their discussion and sent their musings as part of his field report to the Council. The Federation acted quickly and within a few days several engineers and techno-archaeologists were added to Pakat's team. Their job was to determine which technological 'stream' the hardware belonged to.

Each civilization has its specific technologies, most of which serve a function that is replicated in other societies by their own machines and electronics. But the way that an individual planet's technologies develop – on the back of earlier and more primitive machinery and their contribution to what comes after – is distinct to each society. From typewriter to computer keyboard to qwerty-handheld communication devises was the example often used by techno-archaeologists to explain the process to laymen. They'd go on to point out the differences between that 'stream' and the communications systems used, say, on Vulcan, which relies on visual as much as manual acuity. Different machines performing the same function. Two different technological 'streams'.

After working for nearly a month Pakat and his enlarged team were still unable to determine which 'stream' the technological remains belonged to. Pakat wrote back to the Science Academy, _"It is our opinion that the various pieces of equipment found on Rabijan IX are not related to Vulcan, Klingon or Romulan technology. Nor are they Cardassian or Bajoran, and they certainly aren't Terran_." He concluded by handing the problem over to specialists:

"_We leave it to Federation engineers and scientists based at HQ to compare the mechanisms found here to technology sourced from other Federation planets and further afield and perhaps even from technology captured in battle. As soon as it is feasible, we will ship you as many complete pieces of Rabijan IX equipment for study as possible. Only by doing that will the Federation determine how closely Rabijan's technologies resemble others_."

In that initial period the archaeological team came to share Headquarters' concern: this equipment is advanced and so the possibility exists that yet another civilisation resident in the Alpha Quadrant had or now has the capacity to attack the Federation with sophisticated weaponry. The question remained, how had such a civilization's presence remained undetected for so long?

For several more weeks the team continued to make forays north along the black cliffs, making a special effort to look up each and every canyon. To the west of the bluffs the land was flat and withered, and largely motionless. Periodically a swirling black dust funnel would rise up and run across the plain, only to collapse when it hit the cliffs. The team had learned to dodge them by taking shelter in the crevices.

Confusion about what they'd discovered deepened when electronic parts in abundance were found literally melted into the black rock. Periodically, partial remains of what appeared to be buildings or walls were also found sticking at odd angles from the cliffs, some with a few markings that none of the archaeologists, even with the aid of the Federation's linguistic compendium, could decipher.

The mystery peaked when a female technician, ignoring the designated pathway along the mountainside, literally tripped over the remains of a body. The young Bajoran woman nearly fainted when she stumbled and looked down to see four fingers of a gloved hand sticking out of the black earth next to her foot. The body wasn't far from the scientists' domes and the area was quickly cordoned off.

Pakat immediately realised they needed more specialist assistance and that evening he requested that the Science Office invite Rimina's long-time colleague, Spinner Martin, and his exobiology crew to join them on Rabijan IX. It was Spinner's knowledge of ancient humanoid species that they so desperately needed.

Spinner was glad to leave his lab on DS 16, where for months he had been tracing the movement two centuries before of a specific lineage of Cardassians. This he did by following the genetic signature they left behind in the DNA of the current inhabitants of several star systems, a task that necessitated convincing Cardassians and their subjugated populations to submit to medical tests – not an easy assignment for someone so short of patience and diplomacy as he was.

Spinner, stuck in the lab in a station circling in space for the bulk of his work week, also missed being out-of-doors, and the thought of working in the field was attractive. That said, his red hair and fair complexion were not made for direct sunlight, though he'd heard that wouldn't be an issue on Rabijan IX. He decided to pack a hat and sunglasses just in case.

Keen to leave the investigation on DS 16 to others more suited to it and having heard rumours of what they'd found on Rabijan IX, he jumped at the chance to join Pakat's team. He ordered four experienced exobiology technicians to rendezvous with him on the _Oppenheimer_ in three days time, and a week later they were deposited on the surface of the planet.

Spinner realised that the large size of the team – now nearly two dozen women and men – and its high calibre, plus the secrecy surrounding the findings, meant the Federation was worried. Something strange was going on here and HQ wanted results quickly. Nonetheless, he was fastidious by nature, and no one had ever been able to fault his methods or findings. He also knew this high-profile dig would have its records poured over by members of the Science Academy for years, so it was necessary to clear the organic remains carefully and document everything precisely.

After reading Pakat's reports and spending a morning exploring the site with his people, he understood why the body and the nearby ruins were considered more than a little unusual. When he finally got down to work, he moved slowly and with deliberation. Rimina, who watched her young friend work, understood and appreciated his attentiveness to detail. But the professor, under pressure from Federation officials, had lost patience with the two diggers. "Two days to unearth a body?" Pakat groaned.

On the first morning Spinner had decided he would himself chip and dust away the top layer of compacted obsidian and pumice. He carefully broke up the rock and swept away the dirt covering the figure. He instructed his assistants to sieve and carefully box any pieces of faceplate, rock, cloth or bone that was mixed with the grey soil. The hours passed as he and Rimina patiently unearthed the remains, which the team came to call the 'spaceman' even though none knew whether the figure was either a man or a space-traveller.

The body was splayed out on an solid sub-surface of crushed cinders, lying on its back, face upwards, with its feet toward the north. It was covered in a tattered suit made of a strong pressed fibre that had once been pale blue. Its helmet was cracked in the back and the clear faceplate lay in shards around the skull. It looked as though the spaceman had been smashed in the face and thrown onto his – or her – back, where the helmet hit something hard and cracked. Hopefully, Spinner thought, the suited figure was unconscious before dying, perhaps of asphyxia.

"It looks like the spaceman's nose and jaw are broken," Rimina noted. The technicians searched but could find no object laying nearby that might have hit the helmet so hard as to shatter it and destroy the person's face.

No flesh remained on the bones. "That's not good news," Spinner said to Pakat, who remained crouched beside them. "If we had tissue it might give us a clue to the being's identity – his skin colour, for instance, or whether he was covered with hair … or even scales. We might even have retrieved some DNA. But we'll look more closely once we get the body to the lab."

Now, at the end of the second day's digging, the exobiologist rocked back on his heels and stood up to survey the exposed skeleton. "Looks," he said to Rimina, "humanoid for sure, if its two legs and arms are anything to go by?"

Glancing at several of the younger members of the team circling them, Madam Rimina reached her hand upward toward Spinner, who pulled the aging Vulcan up from her kneeling position. "Right, then, what makes you say it's humanoid?" She happily provided him an opportunity to teach some of the younger staff and students, something she knew he enjoyed.

"Well, I would start with the two legs – I would say a humanoid is bi-pedal." The small assembly nodded in agreement. "We would also assume it to have one head… but that may not necessarily be right." He stopped to consider whether a two-headed entity would be called humanoid, then refocused on the students. "I guess I should have said first that the specimen should be alive. In this case, the spaceman is dead, but he once lived, so that counts."

He carefully walked around to the other side of the excavated remains. "Here's where it get's more difficult. I would say that it has to be intelligent." He lifted his eyebrows and glanced at several of the students, "but intelligent is a relative term. The actions of some humanoids over the centuries seem pretty dumb to me." A couple of the students smiled at his little joke. "But the fact that he has a spacesuit and all this technology," he swept his arm towards the mountain where bits of machinery had been gathered, "tells me that his people were smart enough to create and use advanced equipment."

"Finally, a humanoid should be sentient." He looked down at the body and stood still for a moment. "We do not know if he was sentient, I guess, though we can assume that he felt fear as his violent death approached." The group gazed at the broken faceplate. "Did he seek to understand his place in the universe? It's hard for us to know that, but we can assume so if he looked up at the stars. That's assuming the sky was clear then." A couple of the younger scientists mimicked Spinner as he stared upward toward the tawny mist swirling above them.

The silence extended to the point where several of the younger members of the team shuffled their feet and looked at one another in embarrassment. But they weren't going to interrupt him. Rimina walked up to Spinner and put her hand on his shoulder, aware that his words were as much of an eulogy the being lying before them was likely ever to get. Her touch brought him back to the present day. "Ok, let's get to work…' he said, clapping his hands together and stealing a glance at Pakat, "…or we'll have the Federation on our backs."

He knelt once more over the spaceman and with gloved hands, began lifting bits of the spacesuit from the skeleton. "Be sure to record this," Rimina said to a young woman holding the recorder. For the next three hours she and Spinner worked from opposite sides of the body, taking first the dirt and bits of suit off the skeleton and then lifting each piece of bone from the site. Audio recordings were also made in case the video missed their commentary. As they lifted each bone out of the pit they'd dug around the skeleton, it was laid out on a piece of stiff titanium, as close to its original position relative to the rest of the bones as possible.

Unusual for a modern dig, Spinner had ordered that the transporter, which could have moved the whole skeleton into the storage tent, not be used. Touching the remains, he argued, was a vital part of the work of an excavator. "It's like a book collector," he explained to the younger scientists. "A bibliophile wants to feel the pages between his fingers and to smell the old paper and leather. It's a completely different experience than reading text on a padd, isn't it? Well, it's like that for me: I want to feel the texture of the suit and the body, and to smell the desiccation as we disassemble the skeleton."

He placed the bones and suit by hand onto the platform, and the pieces would be held in place by a stabilising force-field until transported back to the Science Academy on Earth and studied by specialists there. The job of Pakat's field team was simply to ensure that the remains were unearthed, stored and shipped safely, and that records of the dig and any preliminary assessment of the site, its inhabitant and technology, were forwarded to the Federation as quickly as possible.

The end of the second day saw the skeleton safely on the large metal tray. The ruptured space suit was in tatters, as it had been when around the man, and it had been placed on another tray and also held in place by a force-field. Around it was the grainy grey soil in which the suit and spaceman had been buried. After a final scan of the internment site with a tricorder showed that no other organic material was present, the pit from which the skeleton was extracted was closed the old fashioned way, with shovels and muscle power. When the shallow hole was filled nothing showed that a man had struggled to take his last breath there.

"Why then, a space suit?" Rimina asked Spinner as they sat at the table after dinner. "There is enough air here to breath, however foul it smells. It tastes like burnt oil, doesn't it? Anyway, there's no reason to think this planet has degraded from whenever he died."

The dining area in the dome was mostly empty as technicians and scientists had left for their bunks or had gone to the more comfortable section of the commons, where they could read, communicate with their families, or chat. Only four younger technicians remained at a table across the dining room, well away from the senior scientists. The youngsters cracked jokes and ate second desserts while Pakat, Rimina and Spinner quietly reviewed the day's findings.

"Perhaps he was about to take off on a ship that required a suit?" Pakat surmised.

"Or he thought wearing a suit on the ground made him safer for some reason?" Spinner speculated.

"But safer from what? And," Rimina reasoned, "if he were going to join a ship that didn't make it, shouldn't its wreckage be nearby? Or are we to assume the ship left him behind?"

Neither man had an answer and remained silent.

"And the soil' , Rimina continued, "it's lifeless. How did it get that way, and was it that way when our man lived here?"

"Probably not. But let's see what emerges from the biological samples taken from inside his suit. But my guess," Spinner said, "is that the air was more fit to breath when our spaceman lived, especially if he was indigenous to this planet. If he had evolved on any planet whose air is this bad, his physiognomy would show it."

"But indigenous is a relative term," Rimina said and then laughed, as though she had made a joke that no one understood but her. "What I mean is that humanoids throughout this part of the galaxy are related to one another, so the spaceman's people may have been seeded here too, like Terrans, Cardassians, and Vulcans were seeded."

"Yes…but," Spinner shook his head, "…the people from which this man sprung were probably not on this planet for eons or they would have evolved differently than we see him. Say, with lungs much bigger or larger eyes to see in the dimmer light."

"But the air might not have been so filthy and with so little oxygen when he evolved here," Rimina insisted.

"That's true," Spinner nodded, "but you get the idea. Their sun won't have moved. So, we are looking at a being who _may_ have evolved here when this planet was more pristine or he evolved elsewhere, where it was less polluted, and he came here later, when it was clean or dirty, whichever, that doesn't matter."

"But the DNA samples will tell us something?" Pakat interrupted.

"Yes, if there is any DNA we can find. We hope to get some from the bones tomorrow, if they are not too dried out. Then we should be able to find out who this fellow is and how he fits into the scheme of things – into the Alpha Quadrant's scheme of things, that is."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find other of his kinsmen laid out on the plain, to get DNA from them too," Rimina added as they stood. She wrapped her bright cloak around her, and allowed Spinner to take her arm. They exited the commons together, leaving the noisy technicians alone in the room. At the door Pakat nodded his goodnight and headed to his office to write his nightly report. Rimina and Spinner walked toward their quarters, each with more questions than they had when they got up that day.

The following morning the diffuse sunlight barely cast a shadow as Spinner walked from the sleeping dome back toward the dining room. He eyed the swirling yellow fog, and remembered thinking how excited he was at the thought of working outdoors in the field again. Now looking around him, he realised that this wasteland was already starting to get to him. Less than a week on the planet and he felt oppressed by the barren landscape and the ubiquitous ochre mist that made it impossible to see more than a few meters. The heavy smell of rubber burning – a perverse odour considering there was hardly enough oxygen to light a flame – pervaded all his senses. He'd found that even if he kept his mouth shut he could taste the rancid odour as he inhaled through his nose. And like the other scientists, he'd discovered that after a day working out-of-doors the oily residue mixed with grit and sweat was hard to wash off his skin. Rimina complained it was impossible to get it out of her hair, which was still black and luxurious.

Any exertion, even something as simple as a leisurely walk along the cliffs to get away from the camp for a while, was nearly impossible due to the pollutants that seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. Pakat was pleased that the pollution was not so bad as to make it necessary to wear breathing gear because that would have slowed the team's work considerably. But the site's medical doctor still felt the need to order a couple of the older scientists to sit in her office and breath clean, oxygenated air for short periods in the evenings to clear their lungs. Spinner entered the dining area thinking that doing field work on remote planets rather than in a sterile laboratory was becoming less appealing by the day.

After breakfast Pakat, Rimina and Spinner met in the storage bay, where the remains of the spaceman were being kept. Like the other two, the sturdy Mylar dome had two doors connected by a short passage. They helped keep the stank odour and greasy air outside and made working conditions inside relatively comfortable.

The two metal platforms were laid out on tables side by side, one with the bones and the other with the suit and dirt taken from the site. Two young technicians in coveralls and hats were already busy doing tests on the skeleton and the suit. In the sterile light of the lab the remains looked ashen and more fragile than when stretched out on the stony surface the day before. The technicians' data would be forwarded by Pakat to the Federation as soon as they had conclusions worth reporting. The two younger scientists stepped back to make room for the senior staff, and the three silently circled the table. They stood on all sides of the skeleton, each deep in their own thoughts.

"Okay," Pakat said at last. "Let's see if we can make some sense of this today. The Council was in touch with me again this morning."

Spinner looked at Pakat and raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit intense. Didn't you report last night?"

"Yes, of course. And it's unusual, I'll admit. But then, this is an unusual dig," Pakat said without need for further explanation.

"Lucky us," Rimina added with a note of sarcasm, "to have Starfleet interested in the work of archaeologists."

They fell silent again, giving the senior technician the opportunity to report. "Measurements are completed," the young Bajoran said as she handed Pakat her notes.

The old scientist skimmed the padd and then read aloud. "He was tall, nearly 2 meters, and probably still young, perhaps the equivalent of 40 Earth-years in age. He'd broken his right clavicle at some point but it was well-knitted back together." The three looked at the shoulder and Pakat continued, "…with the help of advanced technology rather than naturally healing." He looked at the technician. "That's what the medical officer said?"

The woman nodded and Pakat continued. "His cranial case falls within the human range, and the length of his arms and size of his brow ridge and jaw bone indicate he would have passed as a modern _homo sapiens sapiens_ on any street in the Federation. Oh, and only one head," he added with a smile in Spinner's direction.

"Did his bones show any particular wear and tear?" Spinner asked. "As though he was used to doing a job that affected his skeletal system?"

"No, no housemaid's knee or other affliction that I can see," Pakat said as he skimmed the report and the technicians shook their heads in unison. "But I understand what you're getting at," Pakat added. "If a person spends too much time in weightless conditions, his bones and circulatory system begins to sort of thing?"

Spinner nodded and continued. "Yes, and other careers have similar physiological impacts. Starfleet's been dealing with space-related physical changes for a long time now, so we hardly ever have problems anymore. I was thinking that if the spaceman came from a civilization where space travel was the norm, it would probably be hard to find any physiological traces related to that. That he has none tells us he might have come from such a society, something like ours maybe."

"Or that he never went into space…" Rimina interjected.

"But then, why the spacesuit?" Spinner asked. No one had an answer and the review of the technicians' findings continued.

"Anything from the inside of the suit, like hair or skin?" Rimina asked as she turned to the table where the suit was laid out. The second technician, a young man from Luna, walked to the table and touched a bit of cloth that might have once been a sleeve.

"We found some cells of skin inside the folds here," he said and pointed to a small piece of material. We will have to see what the tests at HQ say, but I'd bet it's human cells." He looked at his colleague, who shook her head in disagreement. "She and I have a bet going…'

Rimina turned to the Bajoran and asked, "so, you disagree?"

The woman nodded and spoke with assurance. "It's not so much that I disagree; its just that I think it's too soon to tell. Under the scope the cells look human and all of our instruments say its humanoid, but that doesn't mean its Terran, or that he'd look like what passes as human today."

"So it goes back to definition," Spinner said to his colleagues. "Not quite human would I guess make it humanoid?" he said to the technicians.

"Yes sir," the woman said first, "but how "human" or "humanoid" we can't tell, _not_ _yet_." She looked pointedly at her colleague.

"So, the data will be sent to Earth and we can expect to hear results in the fullness of time," Pakat said. "But let's try to draw some conclusions here, today, conclusions that I can report, leaving open the issue of who the man was."

For the next two hours the five of them worked together, measuring and weighing each bone, taking readings and scrapings to do finer tests. Rimina concentrated on the space suit, and determined that the face plate was a made from a type of impervious plastic that could not be scratched or burnt. She also discovered it was created from a type of silicon-like material not found in the Federation.

"How it came to be in pieces is beyond me," she concluded after an hour's investigation. "It must have been a very severe force that hit the man upside the head."

"How heavy a force?" Pakat asked.

"I can't tell you that," she answered.

"That's something Starfleet will want to know. Get me the chief engineer," Pakat instructed the Bajoran technician. The woman left and five minutes later a crusty old engineer who'd joined the expedition a few weeks earlier from Tycho entered the dome behind her. For the remainder of the morning he sampled the plastic and provided them with information on its tensile, flexural and compressional strength. Before long he'd computed the material's stress-strain curve and had provided the team leader with the maximum gigapascal stress the plastic could take. "Anything more than that would have shattered the faceplate," he explained.

"Would it take the flesh off the bones too?" Rimina asked.

"Without a doubt."

Over lunch the two young scientists returned to their quarters while the engineer and three senior staff discussed their findings. Particularly important to the Federation would be the type of force needed to destroy the faceplate. "Weapons obviously, but what else could do it?" Spinner asked.

"Volcanoes, solar flares," Pakat suggested.

"The blast from a departing spaceship?" Rimina offered, still thinking that the man might have been abandoned.

"Yes, anyone of those would have been powerful enough," the engineer agreed. "But why was he left where he was? And why no other bodies around?"

Long after Rabijan's distant sun had set the three scientists were ready to draft their report to Starfleet. Over a late dinner they separated the hard data – what they knew for sure – from their suppositions. As much to himself as to the others, Pakat twice stated that "it can only be a preliminary report. They can expect no more than that from us so soon."

"For sure," Spinner said twice as well, trying to reassure the old man. "We can finish our research in the lab once we get back, but we've done all we can here. Let's make a stab at answering some of the more difficult questions now…"

"… but without opening ourselves up for ridicule later if we are proven wrong," Pakat completed the sentence.

"That's unlikely," Rimina interrupted. "No one else could have done any better in such a short time."

Five hours later Pakat hit the key on his padd and the report was sent.

_**Secret**_

_Transmission 32-107.86_

_To: Federation Council_

_Attn: Space Science Academy_

_From: Rabijan IX, Scientific Team: Drs. S. Pakat, team leader, B. Rimina and S. Martin._

_Star Date 48541.61 [July 17, 2371]_

_Re. Preliminary Findings: Archeo-Engineering Investigation of Rabijan IX_

_**Executive Summary**_

_Background_

_Rabijan IX is a degraded and denuded carbon-based planet of 3 terrestrial-masses, orbiting an F-5 star at a distance of 0.189 light years. It has a sidereal year of 7.6 Terran years. It is located in the Sub-sector IV of the Alpha Quadrant. The nearest Federation base is Space Station 16, some 2.35 light years distant._

_The Rabijan sun is Star Type F-5, approximately 4.2 billion years old and from observations, is likely to continue burning a further 5 billion years. No significant solar flares or unusual cosmic radiation are currently observed to emanate from this or any other nearby star. _

_Rabijan IX has no orbiting satellite, natural or fabricated._

_Two other planets (IV and VII) in the Rabijan system are inhabited by pre-(or non-) Warp cultures, one (IV) with a population of humanoids numbering approximately 800 million and the other (VII), 1.2 billion. Research carried out by Starfleet at the middle of the last century indicates these two cultures and inhabitants are related, but those findings were not confirmed by this team. No contact was made with these populations during this mission. (Annexure 1 for details of Rabijan IV and VII)._

_On Star date 48138.58, H. Mitsui, Ph.D. student (University of New Berlin, Exo-archaeology) undertook long-range sensor observations of this and several other planets in this and nearby systems, in the expectation of finding a site of archaeological significance. This sub-sector has been the location of several now extinct civilizations and has long been a favourite of archaeology students. (Annexure 2: bibliography: Archaic societies of sub-sector Alpha-IV)_

_On Star date 48168.71 Mitsui found a previously un-excavated settlement at coordinates 45º 32' 45"N and 120º 03' 49"E on Rabijan IX. As advanced technologies emerged from the dig, it became clear to him and his assistants that this was a highly evolved, perhaps post-Warp civilization. At that point Starfleet added an engineer to his team, and excavations continued. _

_As a result of the sophistication of the technological finds, and at the request of the Federation Science Academic (FSA Transmission 32-96.56), on Star date 48333.10 Dr Pakat took over direction of the excavation and he and Madam (Dr) Rimina (University of Atlantic II, Paleo-Biology) arrived onsite. Added to the team of researchers were mechanical engineers, archeo-technologists and geologists._

_On Star date 48497.48 Sarahit Majoris, a post-graduate technician working on Mitsui's team, accidentally discovered the remains of a body that had been long-buried at the site. Immediately Dr Spinner Martin (Federation Lab 2, DS 16, Exobiology) was asked to assemble his team and come to Rabijan IX. He arrived 10 days later._

_There are currently 24 members of the team, consisting of technicians and senior scientists in fields ranging from exo-geology and astrophysics to paleo-astronomy and exo-archaeology. (Annexure 3: staff biographies)_

_Investigation_

_Since Dr Pakat's arrival the remains of a body (locally referred to as "the spaceman") and of technology nearby the remains have been the primary focus of the investigation. At the same time wider geological surveys have continued in order to determine the cause of the environmental degradation evident planet-wide, but especially in the northern hemisphere._

_Over the last three days the remains of the single humanoid were uncovered by hand and placed in stasis on a pallet and await shipment to Federation laboratories. Similarly, the clothes (spacesuit) and soil and other debris surrounding the remains were placed on a second pallet for transhipment. _

_Many technological artefacts, most apparently broken pieces, have been excavated and crated for removal and shipment to Federation laboratories: crates numbering 1-27 have been sealed and will be sent with the two pallets when the _Oppenheimer_ returns to orbit, which is imminent. Engineers have carried out preliminary tests of some of the artefacts._

_Besides the 'spaceman' no other organic matter – plant or animal life – has been found. Scans show the area within 2.6 km of the human remains is barren and devoid of life. The type of equipment here is not sufficient for making an assessment of any micro-organisms that may be found inside the suit._

_Scans suggest that further technology is buried in the rocky cliffs nearby the site, and that excavations using both care and heavy equipment will be required to uncover it._

_The skeleton rested at the base of a mountains range, which consist primarily of obsidian, dacite, granite, feldspar and diorite. The soil on the plain, where the remains were found, is hard-packed, which makes careful excavation difficult and time consuming. _

_The technological artefacts are also encased in hard-packed soil and rock that has melted around them, which means slow progress can be made if they are to be dislodged intact. (Annexure 4: preliminary analysis of rock samples)._

_The atmosphere is breathable but heavily polluted, making it difficult for some of the staff working at the site. Consideration should be given to the health and safety requirements of the team during any further investigation. In the interest of time, breathing gear has not be used extensively during this phase of the excavation, though the team doctor has had to treat three members of the group for shortness of breath. The doctor is confident that no lasting damage to health has been done. Radiation counts are slightly elevated, and have been carefully monitored, though no explanation for these has been determined. (Annexure 5: Analysis of atmosphere. Annexure 6: Site doctor's health and safety report)._

_Dr. Spinner Martin will remain at the site and manage further research until the Federation sends a permanent team of scientists. Drs. Rimina and Pakat will return to Earth via the _Oppenheimer_ on or around Star date 48549.53 and will accompany the humanoid's remains and the artefacts uncovered here. Both scientists will be available for debriefing upon arrival._

_Initial Findings_

_After testing the spaceman's skin cells, several of which were found on a piece of his clothing, the team determined that he was humanoid, possibly Terran. How he came to be on Rabijan IX is unknown, but because he was wearing a spacesuit we have assumed he was a member of a spacefaring culture. _

_The remains of no other life-forms were found but closer examination of material found inside the spacesuit is warranted. _

_His suit was made of material new to Federation science. The face plate is made of an impermeable and nearly indestructible silicon-plastic that is new to the Federation. Our chief engineer estimates that the maximum gigapascal stress that the composite would take without shattering is over 250 GPa (Annexure 7: Space Suit analysis), meaning the man and his immediate environment were subjected to forces comparable to advanced weapons fire._

_We have no way to determine if his society was a pre- or post-Warp one, but have assumed the latter, as the distance between Rabijan and humanoid settlements in the Alpha Quadrant (some 450 ly) precludes travel by this man or others by any other means than Warp drive._

_The artefacts found near the body should, when thoroughly analysed, give some indication of the origin, the stream and the level of technology which this man and his people used. _

_But our first assessment indicates it is not Terran technology, nor related to any stream of technology developed by humanoids known to the Federation._

_The landscape near the spaceman is devoid of all life, and has not been productive for millennia. The atmosphere and landscape resemble that of a desert scorched by nuclear or proton weapons, though radiation levels are only slightly elevated. _

_Our preliminary estimate is that the site was devastated, the technology buried and the man killed over 50,000 years ago. This figure emerges from the carbon dating of the fibre used in the man's spacesuit (Annexure 8: Preliminary carbon dating) and the weathering of the geological formations surrounding the artefacts found encased in stone (Annexure 9: Preliminary analysis of artefacts). Further laboratory research is needed to provide better chronological data._

_Astronomers on the team have found no record or evidence of stellar flares, cosmic bursts or other naturally occurring solar phenomena to explain the planet's devastation. That other societies continue to exist on planets closer to Rabijan's sun supports their findings._

_Similarly, no waves of destructive energy (e.g., the Genesis Wave) are known to have passed though this sub-sector within the last two million years. (Annexure 10: Astronomers' findings)._

_Conclusion_

_The Federation has a mystery on its hands. We have uncovered here an ancient humanoid (human?) surrounded by non-Federation technology that appears to be far in advance of our own. _

_Some of the technology appears to have weapons potential._

_How the humanoid came to be here is unknown. He also died in mysterious and violent circumstances, apparently related to the planet's devastation and its current desolation and infertility. _

_The cause of the planet's destruction remains unknown. _

_No other life-forms appear to have been on or nearby this site when the man died. Further exploration is needed to demonstrate that the man was alone._

_Further research will be required on site and in the laboratory to determine how this humanoid/human came to die here amongst what surely is alien technology. Categories of specialists needed to complete the survey are outlined in the Recommendations below._

_Any member of the research team is available for the provision of further evidence and testimony at your convenience._

_The full report and its annexures follow. _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**_

**D.R. McCann**

**Chapter 2**

The office was neither utilitarian nor lavish. It was instead comfortable, with two pale grey sofas and matching chairs, indirect lighting and a low table with a small tray filled with small, river-smooth pebbles for restless hands to stroke and mould. The steady hum of the engines could be felt and even heard if brought to mind, but the crew of the _Enterprise_ rarely thought about them. Indeed, it was when the gentle drone stopped or changed pitch that the sound became a matter of conscious thought.

Sitting uneasily on the edge of a sofa was Lieutenant Worf, a Klingon of no mean size and build, who served the _Enterprise_ as head of security. He looked down at his big hands as they pushed the delicate stones apart and back around the tray. He continued his tale.

"So, when Alexander was little, he was easier to control. Then I could tell him what to do, even discipline him on the few occasions it was necessary. I could send him to his room and expect him to obey me. But now, now he is stubborn…'

"Like his father?" Counsellor Deanna Troi interrupted with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. She pushed her long black hair behind her shoulder and leaned toward Worf in a deliberate effort to get him to relax and open up.

Worf eyed her and chose to ignore the rub, for he knew it originated from her concern for him, not malice. He and Deanna had been through too much, and had shared their love of Worf's ten year old son Alexander for too long for him to doubt her motives now.

"… As I was saying. Now, if I order him to his room he may or may _not_ obey me! Sometimes he pretends he just doesn't hear me. That's just not acceptable!' Worf sat up straighter, emphasising the point.

"I suppose that _you_ never gave the Rozhenkos reason to doubt that you'd comply with their rules?" Deanna asked in mock surprise. She was referring to his Terran parents, who had adopted and raised him after his own Klingon father had died.

"Well," Worf began, "maybe on occasions, but not consistently… not like Alexander is doing! As a good Klingon boy, I obeyed my adoptive parents just as I had my own."

Ignoring his stridence Deanna probed further. "But when would that have been, that you gave them reason to doubt your compliance?"

"Once, when I was about 13, my father, that is Sergey Rozhenko, insisted that I not attend a function organised by some boys at school. I went anyway, and as luck would have it, the party deteriorated into a brawl. I came home with a black eye, and I was punished… with my privileges taken away for two weeks."

She could see in his face the same look of defiance she imagined he had presented his father long ago.

"Yes, thirteen or even a bit older seems the right age for such wilfulness. But we know that Alexander is spirited, big for his age and maturing early. So, he is undoubtedly reaching what I call the 'second stage of independence' a bit prematurely."

"The second stage. What is the first?" Worf asked.

"Oh, that's the 'terrible twos' when a toddler has identified himself as separate from his mother and is keen to test his limits and then to prove his independence. You will see a child of that age stand and say 'no' to no one in particular, just to hear himself say the word."

Worf smiled ruefully. "Luckily I missed that stage." His words recalled for the Counsellor that Alexander was six years old when he arrived on the _Enterprise_.He was left in the care of his father, who was more than a little surprised because he didn't even know Alexander's existed, when his mother, the Klingon Ambassador K'Ehleyr, died on Qo'noS. Deanna knew that while Worf loved Alexander deeply his temperament and background meant he was neither a relaxed nor a natural parent, well not a natural liberal, hands-on parent.

He continued with his story. "So, ever since he came to live with me he has _never_ behaved disrespectfully or disobeyed me." Recalling why he was now in the Counsellor's office he deflated. "But now, he is obstinate. It's not that he disobeys me exactly. But when I give him orders he argues with me, always trying to prove his wishes are equal to my own."

"But Worf," Deanna asked pointedly, "are they not? Isn't what separates the two of you is your different levels of understanding of life, different experiences and insights. But the value attached to your and Alexander's opinions, to your wishes, is not really that different, is it?"

For the next quarter of an hour Deanna tried to convey to Worf some of the principles of parenting half-grown children. "Yes, its hard for Alexander to judge the outcome of his actions when he hasn't the experience that you have, but his cravings to do something – whether you like it or not – are just as valid as your own."

Worf had come a long way as a parent under Deanna's tutelage and he was willing to hear her out. Born into a powerful family within the Klingon warrior tradition, he was raised by kindly and liberal human parents, and so he himself was torn. He could not bring himself to discount the Counsellor's tolerant treatment of rebellious children even though it did not conform with the way a Klingon normally raised a son. As he sat in her office he recognised that she was appealing to what he thought of as his 'weaker' Earthling side.

"When he was younger," Deanna started again. "He was easier to control, earlier to convince, easier to parent. If he failed at something you could just do it for him. But we can't keep on doing that or our children never learn to do things for themselves. They need to learn to make decisions, and not have them made for them. So now parenting Alexander is different. Now you want to give him space to do for himself, to grow skilled at living his own life, making his own decisions … even making his own _mistakes_. Hopefully he will have some successes too, and learn from those. He is growing up and away from you Worf. That's why I call it a _second_ stage of _independence_…"

Worf wasn't ready to have Alexander grow up and away, not yet, but he didn't tell the Counsellor that. Indeed, sitting there he could feel a slight panic rise inside his chest. He'd had his son for such a short time… it just couldn't be time for independence? Not yet. At the same time he knew that Deanna was right. He wanted Alexander to become a strong, decisive and able man, a man of wisdom and principles, a man who could take care of himself, a Klingon warrior…. just not yet. Deanna sat quietly, giving Worf time to think things through.

When he looked up at her again she continued. "So, it's a delicate time. He is stretching his wings, making a stand… but, unfortunately, he hasn't the experience to judge the outcome of his actions like you do."

"Yes, he still needs me." Worf was pleased at the thought.

"So, the problem with young adults is getting them to amend their goals and their behaviour in line with what their elders recommend, in line with what is reasonable and practicable. Not because you want it that way, not because your _desire_ is paramount, but because it is the best thing for him. You can't order him about, Worf, that just won't do anymore. He wants you to take his views into consideration, too."

"Yes, I can see that," he agreed, this time with real understanding.

"At the same time children need to listen to those with experience, their elders generally and especially their parents, not because they are their parents or because their wishes are more valid, but because parents have the wisdom to know what is safer behaviour and which course of action is more likely to succeed."

"That's just it! I want to advise him, but he ignores my advice. How do I get through to him? To give him the benefit of my years of experience, my wisdom as you call it, while …" Worf stopped and searched for the words.

"… while respecting his individuality and independence?" Deanna finished the sentence.

"Yes, and without interfering when he is making decisions? It seems impossible to do both at once. "

"Yes, it seems so, Worf. And that's why growing up seems so easy compared to parenting. How to help our children, keep them safe, get them to accept our wise advice, while at the same time giving them the space and responsibility to grow, to make decisions and become independent, so they can go forward without us."

Worf grew silent again. He could see this was as difficult as planning a battle. He recalled a time when he found Alexander trying to lift his _batleth_ and had almost decapitated himself doing so. "But they can hurt themselves if they do the wrong thing or make the wrong choice. How can I stand by for that?"

Deanna sighed, realising how hard it was for Worf to let go even a little. "So, what are your choices in such a situation?"

"Well, you can let him hurt himself and learn a lesson, or you can stop him and keep him from danger. Maybe make him stay in his room?"

"Or can you let him go and trust he will figure out a way to do what he likes without coming to harm? To trust him, and believe that he has learned from your years of teaching him to be responsible." She paused to let the words sink in. "And can we agree that when children get older they are less likely to be physically harmed by bad judgement, just as they are less likely to listen to good advice?"

Worf thought a long time again, his strong fingers sifting the smooth stones absentmindedly. Deanna was used to the rustling sound made by her patients, and found it soothing. She thought of it as the sound of people's growing awareness.

"So," the Counsellor finally said, "you can see you have little choice really, if you want your child to grow up independent and able to make his own _wise_ choices. He needs practice, and he can't get that if he's never allowed to make a decision, or to make a mistake, or if he's never allowed out of his room. We can help and protect our children too much, Worf." She gave him one of her broad smiles as she said the words.

"What do I do then?" Worf glanced at her and grimaced with exasperation.

"Each case is different, but the most important thing is for parent and child to keep listening to one another. Alexander needs to learn that it's your experience – not your _wants_ – that you rely upon to formulate advice and give him direction. He has to trust that you are on his side. Only then can he accept your judgement, based on the wisdom you have gained by making your own mistakes. You have to listen to him. You can't bully him, that will only make it worse. It sounds like you and he have a bit of work to do, getting those lines of communication re-opened."

Worf opened his mouth to ask how to do that if Alexander was deliberately shutting him out, but his comm. badge sounded.

"Lieutenant Worf," the voice of Captain Picard interrupted, "please come to the conference room."

Worf acknowledged the order and rose, just as Counsellor Troi's communicator went off. "Counsellor, will you please come to the conference room?"

"Yes sir," she said, looking at Worf with a puzzled expression. She stood, patted her wild black hair, straightened her uniform and followed Worf through her office door.

As they entered the room they saw Captain Picard at the end of the dark oblong table. Outside the stars raced by, where inside it was still and calm. At the far end of the table sat the android Science Officer, Lieut. Commander Data, who waited for the meeting to begin by doing calculations in his head related to a problem he was working on when called to the meeting. Next to him was the handsome First Officer Will Ricker, talking quietly with the ship's doctor, Beverly Crusher. She wore a lab coat with her red hair draped over her shoulders. Riker glanced at the Counsellor as she entered, and gave her a brief smile. On the other side of the table sat Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, the Chief Engineer, who greeted the two as they took seats next to him.

"We are all here now," Picard said to the communications screen mounted on the bulkhead at the end of the table. On it was the rounded, tan face of Admiral Robbins, a member of Starfleet, who served as its senior liaison officer to the Federation Council.

"Good, there's no time to waste," Robbins said to the assembled group.

Hearing the warning, the six officers glanced with curiosity at Picard. As his face gave away nothing they turned back toward the screen, and presented the Admiral with their undivided attention. Each was keen to hear what he had to say, for he had piqued their curiosity. Besides that, every one of them was on the _Enterprise_ because they liked a challenge.

Over the years Captain Pickard had knitted them together into a team. They had learned they could count on one another when facing a crisis, and each knew the others were steadfast and dependable. They understood what made the others tick, so not only had they come to come to trust one another but they also liked working together. And though a decade before Commander Riker and Counsellor Troi had been passionate about one another, their relationship had mellowed with the passing of time and while they still remained watchful of each other's interests, they now accepted – some times less happily than at others – the relatively uncomplicated status of 'close friends'. Captain Picard was proud and confident that together, they could perform any task, however urgent, given them by the Admiral.

Only Picard knew Admiral Robbins personally. As a Lieutenant Commander he had been on Picard's board of enquiry in the mid-2350s, when then-First Officer Picard's actions aboard the _Stargazer_ were scrutinised. Picard knew him to be a serious man, intellectually rigorous but fair-minded, which is just the type of inquisitor any innocent young officer would want when under investigation.

"Picard, we have a mystery on our hands," the Admiral began. "The situation is not only puzzling but it has serious security implications. Further, it's got to remain a secret as far as possible, especially from the Romulans."

The officers, further intrigued by the Admiral's warning, looked again at Picard. He glanced at Riker, who silently nodded and indicated their compliance. The Captain turned again to the screen. "Yes sir. We understand."

"What I have to tell you must remain confidential for two reasons. First, the events demonstrate an enormous power, which Starfleet wants to assess and fully understand if possible, before word of it leaks out to our enemies. Secondly, it poses a mystery that goes to the heart of what is human, and therefore, it's of fundamental importance to the Federation." No one moved or spoke and the Admiral continued.

"Several months ago an archaeological dig on Rabijan IX in sub-sector two-six of the Alpha Quadrant uncovered technology of vast importance. Because it was well in advance of the Federation's current levels of technological development, the Council sent an experienced archaeologist to head the team. Dr Pakat was put in charge."

"Yes, I know him," Picard said with enthusiasm. "I took courses from him at the Academy, but that was a long time ago." The officers around the table smiled, for they knew that Picard had had an opportunity to become an archaeologist instead of a Starfleet officer. Moreover, they knew that he retained an interest in the past, whether as an historian or an archaeologist.

"Exactly," the Admiral said. "That is why we have selected the _Enterprise_ to follow up on this. We know of your expertise and interest."

Picard shook his head, "Sir. I am not a specialist, only a casual amateur." He paused and then asked, "I've lost track of Dr Pakat. Where is he teaching now?"

"He's based at Southern Luna University," the Admiral answered. "Let me tell you the rest of the story." He continued giving them details of the excavation, highlighting the need to augment the composition of the scientific team once the sophistication of the technology was established and again after the body was uncovered. "We received Pakat's field report a week ago, which outlined the team's initial findings and recommendations."

The group listened, keen to hear more about the mystery. Only Data sat with a blank expression on his face, but that was because his emotion-chip was locked away in his cupboard. But he took in every word the Admiral said, and also analysed the timber of the man's voice and his body language in an attempt to judge his stress levels.

"The site is old," Robbins continued.

"How old Admiral?" Picard asked.

"Something like 50 or 60,000 years, maybe more."

"And the man that was found…' Deanna opened.

"He lived in the same era, more or less. We at Starfleet assumed when Professor Pakat called Dr Martin in to investigate, that the man was a Vulcan or some other humanoid. As it turns out – though we still have to complete the analysis of the skeleton – that he was not only humanoid, but maybe even human."

"Terran?" Data managed to ask first.

"As far as the initial information provided us, yes, the spaceman – that is what they called him because he was in what appeared to be a spacesuit – was perhaps a Terran. But did he originate on Earth? Not 60,000 years ago! We just don't know who he is, or how he got there."

"And his death…' Deanna, an empathic Betazoid, was aware that the Admiral was hiding something, as yet unspoken.

"He died a violent, unnatural death, as did the planet. By all accounts it's an awful place, ragged sharp igneous rock, infertile plains, polluted water and rank air."

"What killed him, and the planet for that matter?" Riker interjected.

"Again, we don't know, but Dr Pakat explained in his report that it was a powerful force – he provided some calculations – perhaps even a planet-wide force. If I were guessing, I would say a solar flare or perhaps plasma weapons – by the state of the planet now, fifty millennia later."

The officers sat in silence, absorbing what they had heard. None had heard of the Rabijan system before, and none knew exactly where it was, but they all recognised the significance of a humanoid, perhaps a Terran, living in the far reaches of the Alpha Quadrant fifty thousand years ago. That he was surrounded by high-tech machines was all the more intriguing.

"So," the Admiral continued, trying to gather the story together again. "It's been a whole series of surprises: from a student finding the site, their discovering advanced technology that did not originate in the Federation, and then to literally trip over the human, dead fifty thousand years at least. That's the gist of Pakat's report." He paused for questions but no one jumped in.

"I have saved the biggest surprise to the last: Dr Pakat and Dr Rimina, and their colleagues on Rabijan IX were packing the remains of the human and two dozen crates of technology for transhipment back to Earth on the _Oppenheimer_. It disappeared."

"What disappeared?" asked Riker, as the others leaned forward eagerly. "The technology or the _Oppenheimer_?"

"No, the site. Well, more than that," Robbins said, "the whole damn planet."

The officers sat still, unsure they had heard the man correctly.

"Sorry Admiral?" Picard asked. "I am not sure we heard you properly."

"Yes you did, Captain," the Admiral said as his face sagged and all of a sudden showed his age. "This is one hell of a situation. The whole planet disappeared, along with the technology, the spaceman, and the scientists that were on it."

The room was deathly silent as the officers took in the enormity of the news.

Picard regained his voice first: "it was destroyed?" he asked.

"Not that we can see. There is no debris field, no rock or remains of a planet. There was no shockwave felt by the _Oppenheimer_, which was in the region. Nor was one registered by DS 16. Nor was a blast felt on the other inhabited planets of the system. We asked their governments and they claim ignorance of the missing planet."

"How about the sun?" the otherwise silent engineer asked. "Perhaps there was a solar flare or gamma radiation that hit the planet and bypassed the others?"

"No, we looked into that too, and found no recent solar activity of any magnitude. Nor was there any trace of energy weapons fire from outside the system that could explain its disappearance."

"But that doesn't make sense," Data said. He had been sitting quietly contemplating the news. "How were you able to communicate with the inhabitants of the other planets…' He clicked his head to the right, obviously accessing his internal database. "There are two in that system, right?"

"Yes, Rabijan IV and VII."

"Right, so how were you able to contact them when the destruction of Rabijan IX should have interfered with their orbits, making their rotations unstable, and at the very least, disrupting their atmosphere and communications?"

The Admiral smiled.

Data continued, "Yes, and on the ground, when their rotations and orbits were destabilised, their settlements would have been destroyed – at least partially - and their inhabitants killed. Perhaps wiping out the two civilizations altogether? Or even dislodging the planets from their orbits."

"Its impossible to slip anything by you, isn't it Commander Data?" the Admiral said with a smile and a shake of the head.

The others at the table had caught up, but Data explained anyway. "All orbiting bodies are influenced by others nearby. Imagine if the Terran moon was removed, how that would affect the Earth. It would also disrupt the path of the Earth's orbit if other nearby planets, especially Jupiter, were destroyed or blasted out of the solar system. To what extent I can calculate…'

"That's alright Data, you can perform your calculations later," Picard said, turning back to the screen. "So, if Data is right, the other planets have in some way been dislodged, or thrown out of orbit, or at least affected by the disappearance of Rabijan IX?"

"No, Picard, they have not. And that is the biggest, or at least the latest mystery of them all: where Rabijan IX once was situated there is a 'gravity well', at least that is what our scientists are calling it."

"Please explain Admiral," Picard said, expressing their willingness to hear even the most outrageous supposition.

"As you will recall from your Academy days, the centre of mass of each planet, or any other body, is the place where gravity is concentrated. So, take a massive and lightly packed body – say a big old star, a gas giant – and take a tightly packed neutron star of much smaller size. If their masses are the same their gravity will affect distant neighbours, such as planets or other stars, exactly the same. To measure the force of their gravity you would calculate it at the centre of mass of each of the bodies. If they have the same mass they'd the same impact at a distance. Are you with me?"

All well-trained in Newtonian physics at Starfleet academy, they followed his logic. Even Deanna, who had the least training in the hard sciences, nodded her understanding too. Picard asked the Admiral to continue.

"Another way to look at it is like a giant rubber sheet, where a body with mass is laid down on it. Naturally, it makes a dent in the sheet, demonstrating how the gravity has more force closer to the body and less further away."

They had all seen this demonstration at the Academy when their professors explained why light bent around a large gravitational body like a galaxy.

"So," Robbins continued, "there where the mass of Rabijan IX was once centred, is a spot that displays the same pull of gravity as before. It keeps the other planets in the system moving in their same orbits without any of the disruptions that Mr Data explained."

"Is there anything in that location?" Data asked. "Perhaps a particle of enormous density and weight that might create a gravity well of the same depth and expanse. Maybe dark matter of some sort?"

"Not that we can find," the face on the screen said. "As you can imagine, the _Oppenheimer_ is timidly exploring the spot at the moment." The officers nodded their agreement. "But thus far, we see nothing, not a molecule of extraordinary matter."

"It sounds impossible," Doctor Crusher cut in. "How can a whole planet disappear and leave no trace? And a spot be held open for it, as it were?"

"Doctor," Data turned to his colleague, "the one thing we know is that it takes enormous energy to create the illusion of mass the size of a planet, or to establish a gravity well of this magnitude, and to keep it fixed there indefinitely."

"You mean it might disappear suddenly?" a surprised Dr Crusher asked.

"Now you understand why we are _gingerly_ exploring the area," the Admiral added. The red-headed doctor nodded in silent agreement and returned to her own thoughts.

Data concluded for his colleagues, "whoever has done this has learned to manipulate gravity, it seems."

Picard nodded and returned to the screen. "Okay Admiral, we are beginning to understand the extent of the mystery."

"Yes, this display of power has shaken the Council, and it wants to know what force is behind it. Moreover, the technology that was found on that planet was, shall we say, potentially useful to develop a better way of fighting the Borg. We don't want it falling into the hands of the Romulans or the Cardassians or their allies. Not only that, the original mystery remains. What happened fifty or sixty millennia ago on that planet, and how did a humanoid, perhaps an Earthling, come to die among advance, alien technology? All very curious. Yes, Picard?"

The Captain looked at his first officer, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, also welcoming the challenge the _Enterprise_ was about to take on. Picard turned again to the communicator. "So, what exactly is it you want us to do?"

"Captain. We need someone out there with the skills and capacity to think outside the box. You and your people have shown that ability before. Your knowledge of archaeological digs will help if you find the scientists. We also need someone who can tread carefully if need be, and not make the situation worse…"

"…Like making the giant who stole the planet mad at us," Dr Crusher whispered to herself, though Geordi and Deana, sitting nearest her, caught her words and nodded their agreement.

"…A diplomat," the Admiral concluded.

"I am sending you the data we have, which consist of the various reports sent by the different teams working on Rabijan IX during the last year as well as Dr Pakat's last field report, sent by subspace communication the night before they disappeared. I will also send the readings made in the sub-sector and the Rabijan system by the _Oppenheimer_ and the other science vessels since the planet disappeared."

Picard looked around the room to ensure that his staff had asked all their questions. Beverly Crusher lifted her hand and caught his attention.

"Admiral, can you also forward any information about the skeleton? Who knows, he might end up helping us track down the missing planet."

7


	3. Chapter 3

_**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**_

**D.R. McCann**

**Chapter 3**

"Slow to impulse drive. We want to take this carefully," Riker ordered the helmsman as the ship approached the Rabijan system. "Captain," he said into the intercom, "we have reached our destination."

"Coming," Picard answered from his ready room and moments later he joined Riker, Worf, Data and a handful of junior officers on the bridge.

"Begin scanning Data," he ordered immediately after reassuming command of the bridge.

"Already underway, sir." As vital information was gathered and analysed by the ship's instruments the android relayed the most revealing to Picard.

"There appears to be little debris on the outskirts of the system, just as the Admiral said. No more than 0.001 molecules and 0.0002 H-bosons per cubic centimetre, as in any other region of nominally empty space."

"Let's move in then, but slowly," Picard said to the helmsman. "Three-quarter-impulse speed Ensign."

For the next six hours they moved inward through the Rabijan system, skimming the inner planets and taking measurements of its sun. Data reported to Picard, "Sir, I can confirm the _Oppenheimer's_ findings: there is no evidence of a recent cosmic flare or solar radiation that might have destroyed the planet or shifted its location.".

"Fine," Picard said, "let's take a look at Rabijan IV and VII. Perhaps there are now signs that the planets or the lives of their inhabitants have been disrupted by whatever caused the disappearance of Rabijan IX."

As they approached the two inner planets Picard recalled that General Order 1, the Federation's Prime Directive, did not ban the interaction of Starfleet crews with pre-Warp cultures, but it discouraged it. Following Vulcan guidance, the order had been promulgated decades earlier because, after various misunderstandings and explosive interactions, the Federation came to believe that any dealings between themselves and a 'primitive' culture could easily upset or change the 'natural development' of the latter.

Picard turned to Counsellor Troi next to him. "You know, the Prime Directive means we have to skirt those two planets."

It brought to her mind the rules of parenting she'd been outlining to Worf not long before. "It's interesting, Captain, how the Directive limits our interactions with less advanced groups… but we'd never treat our own children in the same way, abandoning them and hoping that they'll survive and develop without our help." Worf, standing behind them, glanced at the Counsellor and considered her words.

"But in the beginning, Federation Captains tried to intervene in the affairs of other planets and that generally resulted in disaster," Picard countered.

"But intervention is not the same as guidance sir," Deanna said, thinking of her recent session with Worf about raising Alexander. "It seems it would make sense for Federation scientists or other technocrats, to visit societies that are lagging behind, and guide them as they determine what it is they need, and then help provide it. Isn't that what was done on Earth in the 20th and 21st centuries, in the so-called 'third world'?"

"But Counsellor, how successful was that effort? Did the people who tried to help actually do any good? That's a question historians still debate."

"Well, they passed on technology that increased food production, and education and better health…"

"But those aid workers weren't called 'change agents' for nothing… they certainly influenced the direction and upset the 'natural development' of the countries they sought to assist."

"But it sounds as though the Federation threw the baby out with the bathwater sir. Afraid of intervention. it decided to limit almost all interaction. I wonder if it wouldn't be better to permit some sort of development missions to work with the locals on relatively backward planets at least?"

"Heretical views, Counsellor," Picard said and smiled. "But I understand that the assistance you would offer is motivated by a desire to improve living conditions." The Counsellor nodded. "And maybe you are right. Maybe the Federation should reopen the debate on the Prime Directive…. But, you know, ever since I joined Starfleet, for me the key element of the Directive has been that we do not share advanced technology with any less developed society. '

"… Now that I can understand! That could easily make the situation worse," Deanna agreed.

"… so maybe that is what motivated the Federation: all interaction is limited because raising living standards generally happens through the use of more advanced technology?" Picard opined.

Deanna stopped to consider the problem while Picard's attention turned back to the helmsman. "I know the _Oppenheimer_ has been in touch with the government of Rabijan VII recently, but I still want to stay in high orbit above the planet. Ensign, park us where our presence is less likely to become known. And Data, begin scanning the surface."

For the next hour Data looked for recent changes in the planet's weather patterns, atmospheric ionization, magnetic fields, polar melting, air quality, the temperature and composition of the planet's larger bodies of water, and other natural features.

After he completed the survey, he turned to the Captain. "None of these record any significant variation that would mark a fluctuation in the planet's orbit or an unusual astronomical event that might also cause the disappearance of Rabijan IX."

The survey continued, and soon Data announced that the nearby uninhabited planets in the system had not been affected either.

Meanwhile, Counsellor Troi took up her role as communications officer and monitored the broadcast bands of Rabijan VII to determine if there were any recent celestial events that had captured the attention of scientists or the public. "There appears to be nothing out of the ordinary in their news or communications channels," she told the Captain. "The disappearance of the outermost planet has gone unnoticed by this neighbour at least. Nor are there any reports of behavioural change among small animals, which might indicate their awareness of shifts in the planet's magnetic field. In fact, Captain, there seems to be nothing unusual reported by scientists at all. Animals and sentient beings seem to think that everything is as it should be."

At the end of his shift, Picard ordered the helmsman to leave orbit and take them on to Rabijan IV. Riker arrived to take over the bridge, and though Data was relieved by the deputy science officer, he decided to remain and work with her. He had no social commitments and he felt the scientific aspects of problem were too intriguing to put down, a view shared by others he worked with. But they needed to eat and sleep and many left the bridge when the Captain did.

The night passed quickly and without incident, and the next morning Data informed the meeting of senior officers that he could report with some certainty that the populations of both planets were unaware of Rabijan IX's disappearance and that neither had been adversely affected by it.

"And," Picard concluded, "as of now, I have no intention of informing them." He looked around at his officers, and when no one disagreed, they stood and returned from the conference room to the bridge. Riker should have gone off to his quarters after the night watch, but too interesting in the investigation at hand, he followed them onto the bridge.

Upon entering Picard ordered the helmsman to take the ship to what had been Rabijan IX's orbit. "I think we have obtained as much information here as we can at the moment. It's time we focused on the gravity well."

As the _Enterprise_ moved slowly toward the edge of the system, to where the ninth planet once orbited, the sensor registered gravity in the vicinity no different than that of the missing planet. "Puzzling," Data concluded as he scanned the information arriving on his console.

Riker nodded. "Powerful gravity field… just like a planet's. But how's it being generated? What can create such a force?"

Data lifted his eyebrows and shook his head, "I am as perplexed as you, Commander."

"A different question then," Riker continued. "What sort of agent would have the forethought or the will to do all of this?" he pointed to the view screen and by implication, the whole Rabijan system.

Geordi La Forge had come on the bridge with the others from the conference room as he was keen to see if anything was found in the gravity well. "In this way, how, Commander?"

"Well, we have encountered forces in the universe with the power to move a planet… Q for instance."

Geordi groaned. "You don't think it's him that's done this, do you?"

Picard interrupted. "No, this isn't his style."

Riker turned to the Captain, "I agree."

"Q is more flamboyant," Picard continued, "and it isn't very long after he's done something that he makes his presence known. Takes credit for it, whatever it is."

"Yes, you're right," the engineer grinned. "It's been two weeks since the planet disappeared and we haven't heard from Q, is that what you mean?"

"Precisely," Picard nodded.

"And besides," Riker continued, "I can't see Q interested in an archaeological dig, at least one that has no relevance to the Continuum."

"None that we can yet identify anyway. We shouldn't discard any explanation prematurely," Picard reluctantly admitted. "Q might be involved somehow."

Riker returned to the nature of the agent who had made the planet disappear. "This disappearance shows forethought, that's for sure. But more than that. To intervene on this magnitude in one place and leave everything thing else untouched takes not just enormous power, but it also takes care and planning."

"I agree, Number One… but it may also show desperation."

"In what way, sir?" Riker was intrigued.

Picard rose from the Captain's chair and paced the bridge, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Well, who would take the chance to do something so grand… especially, as it appears, they were trying _not_ to affect the populations of two other planets? Any little thing could have gone wrong, a calculation might have been in error and the results could have been catastrophic. Tidal waves, earthquakes, volcanoes at the least. Maybe even complete annihilation. You'd have to be pretty desperate to take the risk of destroying two other civilizations to do this."

Data intervened. "Sir, you speak as though you have eliminated a natural act as a cause?"

"We have found nothing to indicate this disappearance is a natural occurrence, Data. But I take your point, we should not ignore the possibility."

"Perhaps someone is testing a new weapon," Worf said from his station behind the other officers. They turned to him. "Perhaps a very specialised weapon, one that hits a specific area without collateral damage. Something big enough to remove a single planet but leave others in the vicinity untouched?"

"I would be surprised if that was not on the mind of the Council too," Riker suggested. "But could that be? There is no debris remaining. What sort of weapon could destroy something the size of a planet and leave nothing behind?"

"Yes," the Captain agreed, "I think the Council must be thinking about the power such a weapon would have, not just if used _against_ us, but if the Federation owned it and could use it against the Borg, for instance. Very effective," he mused.

"You can surely understand the Council's fear," Worf continued, "if it fell into the hands of the Romulans or Cardassians…'

"…if the peace treaty were to expire…' Data inserted.

"…yes," Worf considered, "if the Cardassians were to possess a weapon of this magnitude without our even knowing they had it, let alone knowing how to protect ourselves from it."

Data, who had been multi-tasking, interrupted their musing about weapons. "We are now at the bottom, the centre, of the gravity well."

"Meaning we are exactly where the planet was, where its centre of gravity was located?" Picard asked.

"And where the force creating the artificial gravity is now centred," Data confirmed. He leaned over his console and continued scanning. "We could have expected to find a dense particle here, at this spot, generating enormous gravity." Terabytes of data came in and he rapidly skimmed them. "But, sir, I see nothing like that. We are reading nothing unusual," he said and glanced at Geordi, who was also monitoring the data, for confirmation.

The engineer nodded in agreement, "No. No massive particles, no imploded neutron star, no black hole, not even any dark matter – nothing with the required density. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a gravitational reading that mimics that of the planet."

"Moreover," Data added, "all the gravitational force is not centred precisely here in this one spot, but dispersed over nearly the full diameter of Rabijan IX. This means we can pull away again sir, rather than being captured in this place, like a vortex would hold us."

"Good news, Commander Data," Picard said as he stared at the view screen and into the empty space were Rabijan IX once stood.

He gave no order to leave and a brooding silence settled over the bridge as the officers mulled over the implications of their findings. Having the capacity to manipulate gravity like this, in the hands of an unknown entity on the boundary of Federation space, now that was cause for alarm.

Displeased that no real advance on solving the riddle had been made, Riker rose. "Permission to leave the bridge, Sir?"

Picard stood too. "Of course. You take your down time. The _Enterprise_ will remain here until our tests are complete, Mr Data: you have the bridge."

Captain Picard headed to the doctor's lab. He and Beverly Crusher had been friends for years. Her late husband and Picard had served together during their early Starfleet careers, and while Picard was once in love with her, since she joined his crew any affection he now felt for her was carefully corralled. She was satisfied with that and recognised that if they had a future, it would have to wait until one of them left the _Enterprise_. In the meantime, their friendship meant he often sought her out when he needed a sympathetic but perceptive ear.

Picard found her at the work bench in the lab, a gleaming white room with a window outward and a computer, several pieces of scientific apparatus and electronic equipment. Shelves of samples rested against one wall. At one end of the bench sat an old fashioned brass microscope, a gift from her husband when she graduated from medical school. She liked to keep it nearby, not only to remind her of their student days, but to stroke it and think about the lives of the people who had used it before her. Once Picard had asked her about it and she explained that it gave her strength, knowing that when it was built doing science was tough work, with long hours spent preparing samples, observing them through difficult-to-focus lenses, running experiments, waiting and comparing data, and as likely as not having to re-do the experiments. Nowadays, lab work was much easier, with automated machines that prepared and tested samples and computers that knew more about what needed to be done during a test than any scientist could remember. "We've come a long way," she had told him. "It gives me confidence to know that I am standing on the shoulders of giants."

"Beverly?" he said as he entered. He scanned the room and was pleased to find her alone.

"Jean-Luc. Come in. I see," she said pointing at her window, "we are still stationery. Does that mean we've made little progress?"

He shook his head, and sat on a high stool next to hers. "Not much. But I wanted to see what you had found. You've been very quiet for the last 24 hours, locked up here in your lab."

She could see that he needed more than information, and asked the replicator for a cup of tea. "Earl Grey, hot, no sugar," she said, and afterward a moment's thought, added, "and a lemonade, cold." When these materialised in the replicator she took them to a small table in the corner of the room and they moved to the more intimate space.

"You look tired, Jean-Luc." Her words matched the level of familiarity he had set upon entering the room and calling her by name.

"Yes… and concerned about what we have found here."

"What news do you bring from the bridge then?" She sipped her lemonade, which though artificial reminded her of her summers as a girl in the American heartland.

"Little real news – mostly a list of findings that deepens the mystery. The inner planets and their inhabitants have been unaffected, which is in itself remarkable. And the gravity-well shows no sign of being populated by anything that can explain its existence, such as a microscopic black hole. Now Data tells me it spreads outward, and is not simply a spot. All we know so far is what _doesn't_ cause the force!"

Picard sighed and held his tea in his hands, taking comfort from the warmth of the china and the tea's rich (albeit synthetic) aroma. In his earliest years he drank warm wine and hot water, but very early on he discovered that he preferred English tea, an admission he was still unable to share with his Anglophobic brother. He blew across the top of the cup and as the steam rose, he took a thin sip and continued. "I wondered how you were coming with the information they sent you about the spaceman?"

"Well, I think I am getting somewhere, but I am not yet ready to draw any conclusions, not publicly anyway."

"I am ready to hear some positive news though, if you have any. So tell me what you are thinking, if not yet concluding… publicly." He leaned back and frowned and she could see again how disheartened he was.

"Okay. But this is tentative, remember that. Don't hold me too it," she insisted.

Picard gave a brief smile and a nod.

"I am quite sure he's human. And that is a _startling_ conclusion… but _not_ because the data don't support it… because they do! In fact, the data are quite conclusive. But it's startling because of its _implications_. It means that a Terran male made his way half-way across the Alpha Quadrant many, many centuries before Earthlings took to space."

Picard perked up straight on the chair. "That is amazing news. Clearly we are going to have to rewrite human history after this."

"But which way, Jean-Luc? That's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"This finding indicates that the man on Rabijan IX was an Earthling. But that doesn't mean he came from Earth. It might mean that Terrans and the people of Rabijan both come from a common origin _off_ the Earth and _both_ travelled to their planets independently."

"I see…' Picard put down the tea and leaned thoughtfully toward her, encouraging her to expound further.

"Alternatively, Terrans might have settled earth by coming _from_ Rabijan IX."

"But that seems unlikely," Picard shook his head, "since humans were living on Earth long before fifty or sixty thousand years ago."

"Ah, but it's not as unlikely as it appears. There are several breaks in the evolutionary line from _Australopithecus_ two-and-a-half million years ago to modern _homo_ _sapiens_. And there is more than one evolutionary tree, though his DNA doesn't indicate he's Denovian or from another minor branch of humankind. This spaceman may be related to modern man but still introduced into the mix on Earth comparatively late in evolutionary terms. All I can say is that the man was _homo_ _sapiens_, not where he came from. I am double checking my data now, before signalling the findings to headquarters."

Picard emptied his cup and rose. "I need to go. This is amazing news, but I have work to do. Besides, there has been too much ambiguity for me this morning."

Beverly took his hand as he headed for the door. As it slid open to an empty passage, she assured him, "I'm working on it Jean-Luc. It should all look better tomorrow."

When Picard arrived on the bridge the following morning he found Deanna seated in the Captain's chair. Data was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, sir," Troi said as she rose and handed over control of the bridge. "Commander Data has gone to change his uniform."

"Good to see you there, Counsellor," he said pointing to the chair. "I suppose he worked all night again?"

She smiled and sat down again in her normal chair. "Yes sir. He's made some progress. As for the Captain's chair, it feels more comfortable all the time, but I am not ready to give up counselling yet."

Her job, to support the crew, to assess the intentions of strangers, and to be ready to listen to and give the Captain and other senior crew advice, was one she felt qualified to do. To command a star ship, that was a qualification she had only recently begun thinking about working towards, and was a plan she had yet to implement.

At that point Data and Riker arrived on the bridge together. "Good morning," they chimed in unison, and grinned at each other in surprise.

"Data, what have you found in the night?" Picard asked as the Science officer approached his station to the side of the bridge.

"Sir, we have made some progress."

"So I have heard. Enlighten us," Picard said as Riker took his seat next to the Captain.

"Sir, I was unable to find any indication of what is generating the gravity well, but Geordi and I have found something I didn't expect. A particle trail."

"What exactly is that?" Riker asked.

"The best we can figure is that when the planet was moved, _not _ destroyed, some particles – a very small amount, one every few kilometres – was left behind. We would never have found it, except that these particles – gravitons – are rarely found in this concentration and certainly not in a straight line."

"Let me get this straight," Picard said. "When this planet was – well, when it shifted position – it shed some particles that remain along the path it took?"

"Not necessarily the planet itself. It is more likely a trail of particles left by the force dragging the planet…'

Riker was intrigued. "Is it a trail of crumbs that can be followed? Like in "Hansel and Gretel"?"

After pausing to access his database and retrieve the old folk tale from Earth files, Data said "an apt analogy sir."

"Is the trail delineated to the point we can follow it?" Picard asked.

"Yes sir, I have been able to follow the line of particles as they depart the system. How much further into open space we can follow them, I cannot say."

"But does that make sense?" interjected Riker, a man who was always more comfortable with straight-forward answers. "Why drag the planet away? If something has the power to move it through space and leave the gravity well behind, why not just make it disappear? Eliminate it."

"Presumably to preserve it… and that gives us hope that our scientists are alive," Picard grinned for the first time in two days. "This _is_ good news, Data."

"If we are to trace the planet we must proceed slowly, though," Data said to the Captain. "These particles were probably shed accidentally and they are few and far between. I have a bearing…' Data punched the figures into his console "… but I suggest that we should proceed no faster than three-quarter impulse."

"Make it so," Picard told the helmsman, a slim young woman relatively new to bridge, who acknowledged the order and did as he said.

"This is like tracking an animal with dogs," Riker said, drawing up an image from his childhood in Alaska. "Like following a scent."

"I prefer the comparison to cookie crumbs," Deanna said with a smile. "Much less blood-thirsty."

"Not really Counsellor," Data interjected, "if you think about the purpose of the cookie crumbs."

"We will leave the analogy there," the Captain insisted, fearing the gloomy talk would dissipate the pleasure of the moment, something the bridge crew deserved. They felt silent as the ship turned and moved slowly off into the darkness of space.

Soon the sluggishness of the journey began to affect the crew. Unaware they were missing the hum of the Warp engines and the sight of passing stars, several members came to the Counsellor complaining of a sense of unease. All she could do was assure them that the _Enterprise's_ mission was as usual, but at a more deliberate pace. "We have to track the particles with diligence and care," she said when explaining the Captain's orders.

In spite of knowing the cause, the torpor affected the Counsellor and Dr Crusher as well. Forty hours of following the trail at a snail's pace had passed when they joined up in _Ten Forward_ to take a break and chat with the Guinan. The Doctor remarked how similar the search was to being crippled. "It's like knowing how to walk but having to hobble," she said to her two companions.

Just to be contrary and enliven the conversation, the hostess of _Ten Forward_, Guinan, an Al-Aurian of advanced age, disagreed. "I have seen a great deal of the galaxy and beyond, and it really makes little sense to speed from one side of it to another. It all looks pretty much the same wherever you go."

Deanna and the Doctor shook their heads and smiled, knowing that in spite of her words she understood their unease. In fact, Guinan had a way about her that made people come to her when in distress. People were drawn to this sensitive and gentle woman because they knew she would listen and never give more than a minimum of advice. Tonight she was aware that they had sought her company, not because they needed her counsel, but because they (probably unconsciously) expected her quiet confidence would help ease their agitation.

"So, what would you do Guinan?," Deanna laughed as she tucked into her chocolate sundae.

Ignoring the question, Guinan gave her a knowing look. "You're on chocolate again?"

"Never mind me," Deanna said, waving her off with a long spoon. "We need to help Beverly. It's she who needs your advice."

Guinan recognised this for the ruse it was. Deanna was keen to forget the _Enterprise's_ hunt for the moment. Guinan knew it telepathically, but also intellectually, for as Deanna's story unfolded it was clearly not credible. But play-acting was an effective way of releasing tension and so she went along.

Beverly and Deanna laughed, almost touching foreheads as they chuckled like school girls over their ice cream sundaes.

"So, tell me," Guinan said with a slow smile. "This ought to be good."

"We are thinking of taking a holiday on Risa when this mission is finished," Deanna said with a twinkle in her eye. "Maybe you'd like to join us?" The two women looked at Guinan in anticipation, expecting her to be horrified at the idea of the three of them going to the pleasure capital of the Federation, well-known for its carnal delights.

"That's an interesting idea," Guinan said without blinking. That she seemed to consider the idea seriously took the other women by surprise.

"The last time I was there …'

"_You've_ been there before?" the doctor interrupted Guinan, whose past remained mostly a mystery to the crew.

"Of course. That's where I met one of my husbands… can't remember which number he was… we were there with other people, but after a week we each realised that we were with the wrong partner."

Deanna sat still, starring at Guinan, as a bite of chocolate sauce and whipped cream slid off the silvery spoon and back into the sundae dish. She tried to read the dignified Al-Aurian's thoughts to see if she was pulling their leg, but the older telepath put up a blank screen. Guinan was not going to let her in: that would be no fun at all.

"Yes, I haven't been there for … well, years. When were you thinking?" Guinan asked with a straight face.

Dr Crusher took up the challenge and started to plan their fictitious holiday. "We could stay at the Aksanda resort," she said, remembering a name she'd heard from one of her young clinical officers. "We could…' The doctor stopped, for when she looked up she saw that Guinan had stopped laughing and instead of reacting in good humour, was sitting straight in her chair and staring out of the broad window.

"What is it Guinan?" Deanna asked immediately, as she sensed that Guinan's mood had changed and that her demeanour had nothing to do with planning a sexy holiday on Risa.

Guinan stood slowly and walked purposefully to the large window that gave the lounge its superb view of space. She remained motionless, gazing at the distant stars while trying to get a grasp of what she sensed. Whatever it was, it felt close. Deanna and Beverly came up behind her, and the doctor placed her hand on the older woman's shoulder. She repeated Deanna's question, "what is it Guinan?"

"I don't know," she said, "but its powerful. Awesome." For a further half-minute Guinan and the two women stood staring into space. Then, ignoring the women, Guinan turned and walked back to her place at the bar. Deanna and the doctor followed, but try as they did they couldn't get her to say any more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**

**D.R. McCann**

**Chapter 4**

Alexander, being the youngest, felt privileged to be included. The two other boys were a few years older and he figured they let him hang around with them because he was nearly their size and equally as strong. That he could beat them in a fight he had no doubt, not that he wanted to fight them. He wanted to be part of their gang instead.

Matthew had been his best friend for years. His father was on board when Alexander first arrived on the _Enterprise_ six years previously. Since then Matthew had remained aboard though Alexander had been off the ship several times, sometimes to live with his grandparents on Earth and other times to visit his relatives on Qo'noS. During those years Matthew's father, Lieut. Smelser, a radiographer working for Dr Crusher, had risen in rank and elected to stay on the _Enterprise_, rather than to rotate back to his home world, Luna, or to one of the Federation outposts. His parents lived separately and Matthew had elected to stay with his dad for most of his thirteen years. Living aboard the _Enterprise_ suited both the boy and his father.

It was different for Jarok, who lived with both of his parents. They had arrived on board the _Enterprise_ only six months before. His father, a communications wizard named Camberwell, worked in Engineering under Commander La Forge while Jarok's half-Bajoran mother, Tora Etilen, was second officer in Astrometrics. Neither made much time in their lives for the boy and in return, he considered their scientific pursuits tedious. Moreover, this was the fourth ship they'd been on since he'd started school, and while his academic record hadn't suffered, his social life did. It was he who thought it a good idea to form a gang, as a way of knitting together the group and guaranteeing 'loyalty' – a word he often used. Recruiting Matthew and the younger Alexander was his first success.

"We have to have a secret code," Jarok told the others. They were sitting in a holodeck simulation of a tree house, with the famous pools of Argelius II laid out below them. "Others won't be allowed to come up here unless they know the code."

Alexander thought it foolish to imagine that other boys would want to enter their holodeck tree house when they could just as easily create their own, but said nothing. "What kind of code?" he asked aloud

"One that is impossible to break."

"No code is impossible to break," Matthew insisted. "My dad says that any code ever devised can be cracked by a competent programmer using the Cray Y-cl.920 computer."

"Okay then. But we need a code that nobody at school knows," Jarok insisted. "That way we can have our meetings and no one can come and listen."

Alexander thought it unlikely that anyone could sneak up on him, but again he wasn't going to argue the point. No need making these two feel bad because they hadn't the ability to hear enemies from hundreds of meters away, but were limited by their inferior genes to being vulnerable to almost any predator. He once again silently counted his blessings for being born Klingon.

"When we have a code we can make our plans without anyone listening."

"What plans?" Matthew asked in real ignorance. He thought having a club was a good idea, though three members seemed too few. "Are we going to get more people to join our club?"

Jarok thought about that for a moment. He knew all the boys and girls in the _Enterprise_ school, but he wasn't that keen to include many of them. Some were too silly and other were too nerdy and would more likely want to spend their free time in one of the labs than testing their physical abilities on the holodeck … or anywhere else on the ship that they could reach.

"I am not sure we can trust everyone. Some of the kids might tell the teachers, or even their parents, about the club and its secrets."

At this stage Jarok wasn't sure what those secrets might be, but he had high hopes they would be many and extraordinary. Not like the secrets other kids had, kids who wasted their time reading or playing, instead of improving their survival skills on the holodeck.

"The first meeting of E-1 Club is called to order, then," Jarok began. "First we need to swear an oath of secrecy and allegiance."

Alexander, younger than the other two, watched the proceedings with interest. He had never belonged to a club before, though his DNA made him ready for one. Loyalty he understood, and being steadfast to friends and to a cause fit his definition of living honourably. It was the code his father, and before that, his mother had drummed into him. He was ready to swear an oath just as long as it didn't detract from any wider commitment he felt – to his lineage, his grandparents and uncles, to the Klingon Empire and of course, to the Federation.

"I have written one," Jarok continued. He read the oath aloud and its promises of secrecy, faithfulness, commitment and reliability Alexander well understood: they were no less than the attributes expected of him by Worf. Matthew looked at Alexander and when the Klingon nodded in agreement, the older boy relaxed and smiled his approval.

"So, we must each swear on our lives that we will be faithful to the oath." Jarok pulled out a small Bajoran knife with a handle of green gems, one that Alexander recognised as belonging to Jarok's mother, and ran it across his arm. A thin trickle of blood ran down his forearm. "Here, we must mingle our blood as part of the oath," he said and handed the knife to Alexander.

The younger boy took it and ran the blade across the inside of his arm, enough to scratch the skin and get several drops of dark pink blood to come to the surface. Matthew took the knife from his friend and swallowed hard. He did not want to appear a coward, but cutting himself was not what he expected when Jarok asked him to join the club. He thought they'd maybe promise not to break some funny rules, that's all.

"Come on Matthew," Jarok said with a glare. "It won't hurt." The boy nicked the short blade on the skin above his wrist and a droplet of blood appeared.

"Now we must hold arms and say the blood oath." With that the boys crossed arms and took each other's wrists, each laying a bare hand over the drops of blood on his friend's arm. "I swear on my life," Jarok said first and the others echoed, "to be loyal to E-1, to keep our words and deeds secret, and to protect our blood brothers at all times."

"Now can we climb?" Matthew asked as soon as the oath was complete. He had joined the club to make friends, to scout around the ship and to climb trees on the holodeck. This business of an oath and secrecy was a price he was willing to pay to get what he wanted. But now was the time for climbing.

Upon entering the holodeck they had ask it to recreate the forest of Argelius II, a small planet known for its high mountains and startlingly tall trees. Until recently there were very few small retreats hidden back in the woods, and the locals, anxious to attract visitors to their planet, had kept their wilderness areas pristine. The holodeck had recreated a portion of Argelius's prize northern forests. The boys now stood among wide, evergreen trees on what appeared to be a mountainside, looking out over the foothills to the grassy plains beyond. The dual but distant suns cast subtle shadows across the open ground.

The boys ran inward and upward, away from the clearing, skipping over streams and climbing large boulders and fallen logs. The forest was alive with the sound of small flying creatures not unlike birds, and the dappled sunlight spread out on the rich soil in patches of tan and grey. The pungent aroma of fungus and decaying vegetation lifted from the dirt as they skipped over it, and none of the boys took notice of its slightly synthetic smell. Soon a glade appeared and a large tree with spreading branches dominated the opening. Its heavy white bark and large blue-green leaves lifted high overhead, but its short and stout trunk made it easy to climb.

Matthew was the first to lift himself to the lowest set of branches. Jarok went next and Alexander followed, each racing the others up from one limb to the next. Moving skyward a full three minutes before they reached a place on the narrowing trunk where missing branches made it difficult to climb any further, they stopped. While Alexander was more agile and had climbed faster, he was not quite as tall as the older boys, and couldn't quite reach the next branch.

"It's the end," the Klingon said between heavy breaths. He looked around for a handhold on the trunk and steadied himself. Jarok, who was taller, joined him next, stood on the same thick branch and tried to reach the limb above them. It was even too high for him. Matthew arrived last and moved around to the other side of the tree and tried to shimmy up the smooth trunk, but with no success. It was too slippery and too far to the next set of branches. They were stalled three-quarters up the tree.

"You know why this is, don't you?," Jarok said bitterly. "It's because of the holodeck's safety programme. It's hard to create anything in here that will really hurt you. Not without turning off the safety protocol, that is. If you fell from this height, you might crack a bone," he explained, "but if we fell from higher up you would kill yourself." They all looked down at the soft floor of the make-believe forest 10 meters below them.

"Yes, well, that's true of the whole ship though," Alexander said as he sat down and dangled his feet over the branch. His breathing slowed and he continued. "There is hardly any place where you can go and not be protected from danger on the _Enterprise."_

"There's Engineering," Matthew said, "it's dangerous. You can die in there."

"Sure," Jarok replied with a sneer, "but they are not going to let any kids in there, are they?"

"We could try to override the safety protocols in here, and make a really good obstacle course, or a very high tree," Alexander offered.

"No way," Matthew answered, "you have to have a code for the computer and only a few officers have it."

"Maybe you could steal the code from your dad," Jarok proposed to Matthew, but the latter shook his head. "My dad has all sorts of codes on his padd, but to change something like that you'd have to speak into the computer too and there is no way it's going to be fooled by my voice. None of us can make it think we are one of the grown-ups."

They sat in the tree in silence, Alexander slumped on the tree trunk and the other two standing, leaning against branches and stared out towards the plains. The fields changed colour in the shimmering sunshine, from bright blue green to a dull orange. Closer to where they sat, the sunlight filtering through the leaves made the scene alarmingly real. The scent of recently wet leaves rose in the air and completed the illusion. It took Alexander a great deal of effort to remember it was all fake. "Its just done with a computer and a photon projector," he reminded them.

"Well," Jarok said slamming his fist against the trunk, "I don't get it. How can we ever know what it is to live, well, just a normal life if we are always being fussed over, and, well, mega-protected?"

"It's true," Alexander complained, "my father talks about growing up on Qo'noS and even though he was very young when he left there, he had already killed a Targ by then."

"And did you ever hear Commander Riker talk about his childhood?" Matthew added with envy. "He used to go out on the ice with his friends – well, maybe he was a bit older than I am, but not much. They used to watch the bears hunt the seal cubs."

"It's true, life was different for them," Jarok said with resignation. "My mother used to go for nearly a week into the wilderness of Bajor. At thirteen they would head out to the desert and spend days living off the land, trying to connect with the prophets."

They were silent again as each mulled over his disappointment with being raised aboard the _Enterprise_, where they felt restricted and worse, cosseted. Their hormones gave them no peace, and while they had few words to express their heartfelt desires, each had an urgent need to test his abilities, assert his individuality and prove his manhood.

"The only solution is to get off this ship," Jarok asserted as he kicked hard and broke a branch. He looked around him and saw only the forest, but he lowered his voice anyway. "We need to get to the surface."

"The surface of what?" Matthew wrinkled his brow in real confusion.

"The surface of anything… well, anyplace that is habitable," Jarok answered.

"But how?" Alexander asked.

"We could take a shuttle," Jarok suggested, but he discounted the idea as soon as he'd said it.

Alexander smirked. "That's a stupid idea."

"We might be able to beam down," Matthew said, "but we'd need a good story to do it."

"No one would let us go down to a planet without authorisation," Alexander insisted. "And we are not going to get authorisation. My father is in charge of security and he wouldn't permit it."

But Jarok liked the idea of beaming down and mulled it over aloud, "but we could find an excuse to go to the surface, or piggy-back on someone else's visit?"

"I tell you, its impossible," Alexander insisted, but Jarok refused to abandon the idea.

After debating their options until no new one arose, they sat in silence and watched as the larger of the two suns set. Then they started back down the tree. "They are never going to let us grow up, are they?" Jarok declared as he swung from branch to branch. "They want us to stay babies forever." The others followed, as unhappy as Jarok was with the restrictions placed on them.

"I've got to get back," Matthew said when they landed at the base of the tree, "or I'll be in trouble. My dad will kill me if he finds I stayed out and didn't do my trigonometry."

Dr. Crusher looked up from her electron scope in surprise. She punched the machine's keyboard and looked again for good measure. She found her padd and brought up the _Enterprise's_ scientific database. "Hmmm," she said as she found the entry she was seeking. "Mitochondrial DNA." She sat for a half-hour and reread the entry twice, and after each reading she sat still and stared at the wall of her office. "Too odd for words," she said to herself and tapped her comms. badge. "Captain Picard?"

"Yes doctor. Can I help you?" She had found Picard in his ready room, his desk buried under a loose pile of padds. In front of him sat Deanna with a padd in her lap, her face reflecting the seriousness of the decisions they were making, for the crew's careers and personal lives.

"I am ready to report on the skeleton found on Rabijan IX," the doctor said into the communicator. "Whenever you are free?"

"Yes, we are doing quarterly personnel reports… Let's make it 1300. I will alert the bridge crew to be prepared to make their reports at the same time."

"Yes sir," the doctor said and closed off communication.

"This is where the 'bread crumbs' brought us, Captain," Riker said by way of concluding his report. "The particles were not easy to follow, but slowly and surely Data managed it," he said and nodded at the android. "Without Commander Data it would probably have been impossible. In any case, we have arrived."

The officers had gathered at 1300 as instructed, and in turn they shared the findings of their previous 24 hours' work. It was like putting together a big jigsaw puzzle but one that had no border and it wasn't clear what the pattern on the front was supposed to be.

"But arrived where?" Deanna asked, wondering if she had missed something. "Didn't you say very little was here?"

"Yes, Counsellor, but even nothing is a relative term in space." Data had interrupted to explain the situation precisely. "There are many things out there," he said sweeping his hand toward the window, "just not the same density of stars and planets as in a solar system."

Deanna continued. "So, we have somewhere to go from here?"

"Indeed," Data continued. "There are several scattered systems within a distance of 15 light years from where the trail ends, some of which are inhabited, though none is flourishing. Commander Riker and I have been looking at the records of this corner of the Alpha Quadrant. There once was a vibrant empire here, which reached out to incorporate several other systems, some quite distant. But that has passed into history."

"How long ago was it?" Picard, always fascinated by the past, said as he sat forward with interest.

"Nearly 30,000 years ago, though there was no real cut-off date. There was apparently no natural catastrophe or political crisis, just a slow decline of the empire, a decline that stretched over nearly three thousand years."

"We think it's the best place to start investigating the end of the trail," Riker concluded.

"Fine, good work," the Captain said and turned to Beverly Crusher, whose padd lay on the table in front of her. She had listened to Riker and Data's summary with interest, as she kept hoping that some new information she was unaware of would help her make sense of her own findings. It had not.

She looked silently from one officer to another, trying to assess how to explain her news. Worf, whose brawn made him fearsome at times, was no intellectual slouch. Deanna next to him, sat quietly looking back at her, sensitive to Crusher's unspoken question and waiting patiently while the doctor gathered her thoughts. Data was the most brilliant of them all, of all of Starfleet in fact, but he never consciously made his colleagues feel in any way inferior. Geordi was trained as an engineer and science was not far outside his sphere of learning. She doubted he'd know much about biology though, and thought it likely the Captain would be most comfortable with what she had to say. Next to her was Riker, and she knew that she'd been repeatedly surprised over the years by the breadth of his learning. She began.

"Bear with me while I back up a bit." She paused and started again. "We have known for some time that the man, the so-called spaceman that the scientists found on Rabijan IX was humanoid." She looked around the room and her fellow officers nodded. "They discovered that the DNA found in the skin cells on the sleeve was human DNA, the same as Terran." Again they nodded, and sat patiently waiting to hear what was new. "The problem," she continued, "is that it's not human like we are human" – she eyed Deanna, Data and Worf and added, "at least, the way half of us at this table are human or Terran."

"What do you mean?" Deanna asked, "human in the 'same way'?"

"Well, the spaceman is not the same type of human as is found on earth today."

Data frowned at the news and starred into the air above Dr Crusher's head, clearly lost in his own thinking processes. The others were more vocal; the most articulate was Picard. "What do you mean not human like today's human?"

"It's a bit of a long story," she started, "but I will make it as brief as possible." They settled into their chairs.

"As you all know," she said looking around her, "human beings emerged on the African continent, with a couple other lines arising in Asia before dying out. They did this over a course of many millions of years, with different branches of hominids appearing and disappearing at different times. The first hominid, _Australopithecus_, appeared between 4 and 3 million years ago, about the same time as the first glaciations on earth. Sea levels fluctuated as glaciers formed and disappeared and as sea levels rose and fell. I know that's a long time before our man arrived at Rabijan IX," she acknowledged in the hope of encouraging her listeners to be patient.

"For millions of years various types of hominids emerged on earth – you have heard of some of them, no doubt."

"_Homo habilis_, _Homo erectus_, _Homo Floresiensis_…' Picard said.

"_Homo Sapiens_. He's the last, isn't he?" Worf asked.

"Yes, but the important part of this story is that many of these groups lived at the same time. They were all humanoids. Some interbred."

"Is that important, here, Doctor?," Data asked with real interest, as he knew the story of human evolution well and was trying to understand where the doctor was going with her survey of it.

"Yes, Data, it is. The question we are asking here is whether this man, the individual found on Rabijan IX, was human in the same sense as the Terran _Homo Sapiens Sapiens_, and if not, when his people's evolutionary tree separated from the one of Terran _Homo Sapiens_."

"This may help," she said, punching her padd and transferring a chart to the screen on the wall at the head of the table. They leaned toward it to look carefully at the diagram. It showed what appeared to be a bushy tree where humans and chimps separated at the trunk and where several different types of hominids had developed as branches.

"First, the scientists who found this man discovered that he did not belong to one of the species lower down on the tree. He is truly a _Homo S. Sapiens _– for our purposes, let's call him 'human'."

( channel/courses/

biology/textbook/humev/humev_ )

They nodded in agreement, for they were with her this far.

"As you know hominids evolved, probably in Africa first, four million years ago, and that _Homo_ _Sapiens_ lived on various continents a half-million years ago. Modern humans, these _Homo S. Sapiens_ roamed the world a hundred thousand years ago – the fossil record shows that. We know that somewhere in Asia and Europe they interbred with _Homo Neanderthalensis_. Also an species called Denovians interbred with Asians who later moved into the Pacific."

All of them knew this much about most of the major species of the Earth, as they had all learned the basic palaeontology of all the Federation's member planets at the Starfleet Academy. But she feared she'd loose them very soon.

"But as the Captain said, not all of those who've lived in the last one-hundred thousand years were humans as we know them now. Others lived side by side with _Homo Sapiens_ – _Homo Floresiensis_, for instance." She took our her padd and screened for them representations of these human types. "But the important work done by Dr Pakat and his team," she continued, "was to eliminate these other possibilities. No, the man was definitely _Homo S. Sapiens_."

They seemed happy to concede the point and move on. "The second question is to determine when he arrived on Rabijan," she began again. "But first I must explain a bit about mitochondrial DNA." Worf looked the most perplexed and shifted uneasily in his chair, but she was determined to bring them all along with her.

"Analysis of mitochondrial DNA is particularly good at determining how distant are relations between closely related species. For instance, between chimps and humans."

Worf cleared his throat and asked, "can you refresh my memory: what is Mitochondrial DNA, Doctor?" She was glad to see he was not ashamed to admit his ignorance, just as she would not be afraid to acknowledge her limited understanding of battle tactics. In fact, his question allowed her to provide a refresher for the others in the group.

"They are intracellular organelles, or small round or rod-shaped bodies that are found in the cytoplasm of most cells, which produce enzymes for the metabolic conversion of food to energy and which allow animals to respire aerobically. More importantly for the scientist, they are easier to obtain than the DNA found in the nucleus of cells. Moreover, even though men have Mitochondrial DNA, it is only passed down through the female line. Finally, the average regularity of mutations to Mitochondrial DNA is known and that allows scientists to look at different animals' Mitochondrial DNA and to estimate the time it has taken for one species to diverge from another. Are you all with me? '

"Doctor," Commander Riker said with a his disarming smile, "we trust that you have a reason for explaining all this to us? Otherwise you would have lost your audience long ago."

"Yes, Commander, I do. If you are going to understand what happened on Rabijan IX, you need the science." She looked around the room and no one else tried to cut her short. "So, okay. I was saying about the average timing of mutations to Mitochondrial DNA. This steady mutation allowed scientists in the 20th century for instance, to determine that some four hundred thousand years before that point in time a humanoid ancestor lived in Africa."

"So, Doctor, what you are saying if I get you right," Picard summarised, "is that if this man had DNA of a certain type, he would be one of our ancient relatives, say _Homo Erectus_. But that is not the case?"

"Exactly," the Doctor answered.

"And," he continued, "if he has modern human DNA with a specific number of differences from ours, the scientists should be able to figure out by counting the number of mutations just when he lived, more or less?"

"That's it sir," she said with a proud grin. "I can tell you that the man's genetic makeup, his Mitochondrial DNA, is that of a human whose gene-pool diverged from the one on earth some 70,000 years ago, give or take a thousand years. More interesting, there are mutations to his Mitochondrial DNA that are different from anything found on earth at present, and if these mutations arise at the same rate as those on earth – and that is a big 'if' – then it tells us that his human group lived separately from the Earth's population for some 20,000 years before the spaceman lived and died."

The numbers buzzed around the room and Data helped make sense of them. "You are saying, doctor, that this man lived approximately 55,000 years ago?"

"Yes, Data, that's as close as I am able to estimate."

"Great stuff, now we have something to go on," Picard said and slapped the arm of his chair. "And that his people and Earthlings diverged some twenty thousand years before he died?"

"Yes," the doctor agreed.

"But doesn't that just confuses the matter even more?" Geordi asked. "How, fifty-some thousand years ago, did a Terran come to be dressed in a super-modern space suit on a planet so far from Earth?"

"Yes, a real conundrum," Picard concluded, "an ancient man and futuristic alien technology on a planet that has now disappeared almost without trace..."

Riker finished the thought "…and, unfortunately, disappeared with a team of Federation archaeologists and engineers, who were last seen alive but who now – after being dragged half a quadrant through space – may well be dead."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**_

**D.R. McCann**

**Chapter 5**

It took another half an hour for Picard and his senior officers to devise a strategy. The Enterprise had followed the trail of gravitons to a relatively empty stretch of space, with only a few distant star systems in the vicinity. They decided to approach the planet whose population had once ruled an empire, on the assumption that they would know the region better than any of the other, less developed societies in the system. Considering the slow speed the Enterprise had travelled at for days, the short journey at warp 8 got them to the Pranek IV relatively quickly.

The away-team met on the transporter deck and beamed down to the planet. Each carried a phaser in case of trouble, but they arrived with them stowed at their hips. Riker looked around to make sure each had materialised safely, not that he doubted they would. Transporter accidents were very few nowadays. The four officers had arrived on the edge of a large square constructed of a white concrete-like material with buildings of low height surrounding the perimeter.

Worf immediately moved ahead of the team, and looked around the corners of the two nearest buildings to ensure there was no potential security problem in sight. Deanna, whose ability to detect danger outshone the others, was used to being the recipient of Riker's protectiveness and took it in her stride. She tuned into her surroundings and immediately relaxed as she felt the few startled inhabitants crossing the square wished them no harm. She shook her head and smiled, and Riker relaxed.

Data, more interested in the city, walked away from the group. He approached a large red piece of machinery sitting in front of a three-storey building. At the bottom rust had begun to wear away its base, but it still held skyward two struts made of a lightweight metal of some sort. He scanned it in an attempt to determine its purpose, but without success. He turned back to the others, telling them "it's ancient, and it's not functioning. I cannot say what it does. Or what it did. It may be a warning system, or for communications. It is not evident from my readings." He turned abruptly and moved on toward another dusty piece of equipment placed on the far side of the square. The rest of the team came up behind him.

They had deliberately beamed into the courtyard near to the government's central offices. Upon entering the transporter room Data had begun to brief them and now he continued almost without interruption. "It's an old civilisation, but one that hasn't developed much in recent years." They all moved in the same general direction, as Data pointed out the building he thought held the leader's office.

Deanna led the way through an archway constructed from what looked like adobe but felt more like a dense aluminium. She ran her hand along the walls and came away with fingertips covered in a grey dust. "The thing is," she said, "you can't tell if these walls are a hundred years old or ten thousand by the feel of them." She turned her tricorder on and scanned the building. "I was way off, these are closer to 40,000 years old," she said with amazement. "Buildings that old on Betazed would be revered and preserved as monuments, not left to fall into slow ruin."

"There is nothing that old on Earth," Data reminded them.

Worf, who had heard the exchange kept silent, for the wars on Qo'noS had ensured that no buildings remained that had been built by the most ancient Klingon civilizations. Due to their near-constant warring, they were lucky to have anything more than a couple thousand years old, he thought with disgust.

Riker caught up with Deanna and went ahead of her through the archway. They entered a second large square with a handful of local inhabitants standing on a broad staircase in front of them. It was eerily quiet, though Deanna was aware they were communicating with one another. "They're telepaths," she told the others.

All eyes turned to the Enterprise officers, who halted at the bottom of the staircase. Under scrutiny, Riker stood tall, pulled his jacket straight at the waist, and moved with purpose up the steps toward the administration's headquarters.

The handful of inhabitants, tall and thin humanoids with oversized heads, pale white skin and wispy strains of white-blonde hair, turned and watched as the team climbed the steps. Wearing long, light-coloured robes reminiscent of togas, but with bright scarves draped over the shoulders, the beings nodded at each officer as they passed. Once up the stairs, the team was ignored by the residents, who did not follow them but returned to their own business. Their lack of curiosity seemed odd to Riker but he said nothing and walked toward the wide doorway.

Worf, forever security conscious, noticed their passivity as well. "None seems to have informed the city's leaders that strangers are moving through the capital."

"The Pranek IV people seem comfortable with the presence of off-worlders," Data added.

Deanna weighed in with a more-informed interpretation. "They have sent information of our arrival ahead of us. Being telepathic they have no need for communicators."

"Do you hear them?" Riker asked Deanna.

"Not the words," she said. "I only know they are exchanging information and are wondering who we are. My guess is that they seldom see strangers."

Worf found the silent transfer of information eerie, but he envied them the ability. Less skitterish than their security officer, Data and Riker simply nodded at her news. When a single being, who appeared not at all surprised by their presence, exited the door they stopped and let him pass silently. Standing by the door at the top of the stairs, Data continued his briefing. "This civilisation flourished and stagnated tens of thousands of years ago, and now remains at the stage of development that it reached approximately 5400 years ago."

"But it is definitely a post-Warp society?" Worf asked.

"Yes, they have Warp-capability, but rarely use it now," Data confirmed.

Worf looked around him and took in the few inhabitants and low structures. A slight breeze blew dust and leaves across the square in waves. In his experience, post-Warp societies were modern and outward looking, not as slow and reticent as this one seemed to be. Advanced societies might be comprised of warrior peoples, like his own, or they might be pacific. But at least they were dynamic. "They appear to be …" He couldn't find the right word to explain what he felt. "Lacklustre? Dull-witted?"

Deanna, nodding and smiling at the inhabitants who exited the door, whispered an aside to Worf, "I am sure they know what you are saying and thinking, Worf."

He looked shocked that he might have insulted them, and tried to clear his mind. He frowned and put on what he considered his best diplomatic countenance. Deanna smiled her approval. "That's better, Worf."

"We need to find someone named Questor Movid," Data said to the group as they approached the double door. It stood at least five metres tall, and the inset panels were made of what looked like copper. Data scanned them with his tricorder and was surprised to learn they were made instead of a local polymer. He held the heavy door open as the others passed through. "It's not unlike the materials found on Rabijan IX," he said to Riker, who carried up the rear. "But not exactly the same either."

They passed into the dusty shadows of the interior. The building, three stories high and constructed of what appeared to be stone but turned out again to be synthetic, was uninviting. Their feet echoed on the cold hard slabs, and the sound of their passing reverberated down the two corridors that splayed out from each side of the vestibule. The weight of centuries rested heavily in the gloomy interior even though the ceilings rose high above their heads.

"Questor Movid is the Curator of Antiquities, and we were told he is the best person to help us." Data's voice echoed through the entry hall.

"Not a scientist or a politician?" Worf growled in what for him was a whisper.

"We could find no current scientific establishment to consult, and the Administrator's office suggested we talk to this man Movid," Data explained. "The government showed an unusual disinterest in our arrival, considering we are strangers."

"No doubt they feel secure, or they'd treat us otherwise," Wolf speculated.

"No scientists?" Deanna asked in disbelief. "What sort of society has no scientists?" she added.

"Yes, it's unusual to have a Starfleet team arrive on a planet for the first time in a generation and not be met by a government representative," Riker said as he led the team through the dim, over-sized building.

"But it all fits," Data countered. "Look around. Everything here is old, and if not crumbling, it's at least in a state of arrested-decay. It's not as if they are replacing their buildings, so perhaps they are not improving their technologies either. Maybe besides feeling secure, they have lost that sense of curiosity and wonder that drives all scientists, and most Federation cultures."

As they stood at the bottom of a wide staircase that opened out in opposite directions at the top, Questor Movid, a bony figure, even taller than most of the beings they had seen on the square, entered from the right and walked slowly down the steps. His pale yellow djellaba brushed the stairs as he descended. "But you are wrong, Mr Android. I am curious why you have come to see me today," he said in an strong, but quavering voice.

xxx

"It's time," Jarok said to Alexander and Matthew. They had been pacing in the hallway for nearly a quarter of an hour, waiting till no one was entering or leaving the transporter room. The last time the door opened they could see that only a young NCO, new to the ship from Earth, stood at the transporter console. They hoped no one else was scheduled to arrive from off-board the Enterprise in the next few minutes. "I think it's as good as its going to get," he said, encouraging the other two to follow him.

The success of their plan depended on being able to bluff their way past the transporter officer. They chose this time because they knew that he was young, new at his post and, they hoped, easy to deceive.

The boys entered the room, doing as Jarok had advised: acting as if they owned the ship. Their confidence was only skin deep, for inside each was shaking. All three were afraid they'd get caught trying to bluff their way off the ship.

"Hi there," Jarok said as casually as possible when they entered through the sliding door. "Not too busy this morning, I see." He wondered if, as he hoped, he sounded as though his presence in the transporter room was an everyday occurrence.

Petty Officer Perry, in charge of transporter operations, was not unhappy to see the boys arrive, for standing there without transit passengers could make his 6-hour shift a long and boring one. Having recently arrived on the Enterprise, he didn't recognise the youngsters or know their parents. "Hi boys," he replied. He wasn't tall and he looked only a dozen years older than Jarok, a fact that the boys intended to use. "What are you up to?"

"We've been told to report to Pranek IV's gymnasium," Jarok said. The lie passed without showing on his face. The other two boys, less adept at telling untruths, had already been warned by Jarok to expect it. Neither reacted, though Alexander felt his knees weaken as the words were spoken. It was one thing to embark on prohibited acts behind their parents' backs, but to tell a falsehood was something else. Guilt wracked through him. He glanced at Matthew, and saw that his long-time friend felt much the same, even though he had not been raised a Klingon. Perhaps human parents are as dead-set against lying as Klingons, he mused.

"Really?" the Petty Officer said as he scanned the list of passenger on his padd. "I don't see any names here of young men heading for the surface." He looked up from the padd at the boys standing silently in front of him.

Jarok continued to speak for the boys. "Yes, we were told that as long as we were here in orbit around Pranek IV, we should go ahead and participate in the local competition." He lifted his bag of paddle ball gear to show it to the young officer.

"Hmmmm," Perry said, looking again at his list.

Jarok continued to make his case. "It was a last minute decision because we didn't even know we were going to be at Pranek IV before this morning. No time to enrol in the competition or get ourselves listed there," he said, nodding at the padd.

Alexander stepped forward, and the crewman belatedly recognised him as Worf's son. He had seen them together in the physical training room, but the family resemblance was also striking.

"Yes, my father said it would be bad form for us not to show up. Impolite, perhaps even insulting," the young Klingon said in a strong voice that betrayed no emotion.

Young Perry felt rebuked, as though his initial thought – to deny them access to the transporter – could be seen as a failure of duty and to be taken as a diplomatic slight. "Yes, I see the problem," he said to Alexander.

"We are to be gone for two hours only," Jarok added, "and will be back before you go off duty."

"Got that wrong," the Petty officer said. "I'm off early today. I have my own tournament," he added with a bit of swagger. He already knew Tai Chi when he arrived on board and was one of several crewmen who had had taken up mok'bara since joining the Enterprise. A contest among Level 1 students was scheduled for midday. "Too bad your father is not going to be there to witness it," he said to Alexander, who nodded only, for he didn't trust himself to respond.

That's the last thing he needed, was for his father to return early to the Enterprise to watch the tournament and find him gone. A new stab of fear raced through him.

Jarok saw Alexander's face blanch and jumped in. "Come on, " he said and signalled them to follow him toward the transporter deck. Matthew and Alexander looked at each other in silent agreement and moved forward. They all climbed the single step and got into position. Jarok nodded to Petty Officer Perry, who paused to look at his list and rethink the situation. The boys waited, giving the outward appearance of calm certainty.

"You won't be gone long, then", Perry said as if reassuring himself. He put his hands on the lever and the transporter beam was activated. With a melodic tone and shimmering light the boys were gone in an instant.

The three of them stood on the same spot in the square that their elders had not long before. It was as empty and uninspiring now as it had been earlier, and the boys did not stop to look around. They spread out in different directions and each peered around a corner. When Matthew saw movement, he called to the others and pointed, "here, there are people there."

The other two rushed to his vantage point and watched as the lanky inhabitants moved slowly up and down a wide road. On the other side appeared to be a market but because no one spoke and because none of the items laid out in booths were familiar to the boys, it was hard to figure out what exactly was going on. Perhaps the locals were shopping, Alexander thought when he saw pedestrians stopping and looking at goods piled up on stalls. A few carried bags, but most just sauntered along without seeming to take notice of their surroundings or the others in the road. Periodically one of them would glance at the boys, but none crossed the street or stopped to enquire about their business. "They aren't talking," Matthew said.

"But they seem to be communicating," Alexander added. "They are excited about something, you can see it on their faces." Sure enough, the passers-by closest to the boys furtively watched them without being rude. They deliberately avoided staring at them. "Maybe they know what we're doing?" Alexander said.

"You're just being paranoid," Jarok replied. "But I agree, this is an odd sorta place." The older boy turned and signalled them forward. Following Jarok the two others threw their bags over their shoulders and marched out from behind the building. On the other side of the street four shoppers stopped to watch them pass, but still said nothing. As the interlopers looked about for a means of transport, one local, an elderly man twice the height of Alexander, split from the knot of people and crossed the road and stopped near them. Without saying a word he pointed along the road, toward a vehicle that was stationary at the end of the block.

The three nodded their thanks, and scurried down the path towards the stationery vehicle. Matthew, bringing up the rear, asked, "how'd he know what we wanted?"

"Don't know," Jarok answered. "Lucky I guess."

Alexander didn't think chance had much to do with events at anytime, but certainly not here. He observed that people were watching them closely. They just weren't interfering. A warrior in the making, the young Klingon thought through the implications of what he saw. Their silence and hesitancy to intrude in another's affairs indicated little about their intelligence, he decided. Clearly no one was overly concerned about their arrival but he was sure they knew what they were up to. Yet it seemed as though none was going to sneak up on them, so he set aside his concerns and concentrated on hiring a vehicle.

The three boys hurried towards the transport, walking past another smaller crowd that had stopped to watch them. It was a group of older women with their fair hair drawn up high in knots, making them appear even taller. They wore bright colours around their necks and long draped dresses of a lighter hue. Alexander turned to look at them as they passed, noticing that there were no children among them. He turned further to look back along the street and wondered why the people kept the kids indoors… or maybe they were at school?

One of the women reached out to gently touch Matthew's blonde hair as the boys passed, but he ducked to avoid her hand. Flashing the women insincere smiles the boys scurried by them quickly.

"Creepy," Matthew said after passing the women. At the end of the road, just where the market stalls stopped, they approached the low-slung vehicle parked next to the curb.

Two hours later they were nearly at the foothills. Though the city had little traffic and its populated area was quite small compared to Earth's conurbations, it had taken them over an hour to leave the capital behind. First, it had been difficult to understand that the vehicle was not for hire, but was, in fact, free for the use of any citizen. That they were strangers did not seem to worry the lanky driver, though their inability to explain themselves was a problem. Eventually, with a look of exasperation, the driver took Alexander by the shoulders, indicated that he should sit next to him, and pushed the other two onto the back bench. He instructed them to be 'quiet' – at least that is what they assumed he was telling them when he put his long, salty fingers firmly over each of their mouths. He walked around the back of the vehicle and slipped into the seat next to Alexander, and waited in silence.

After an awkward pause, the Klingon youth realised that he was to direct the driver. He looked towards the blue hills beyond the buildings, but before his instructions could be uttered aloud, the man had started the vehicle and had steered it toward the centre of the road. He looked at Alexander and nodded once firmly, as though telling him everything was as it should be. Now that he understood where they wanted to go, he was able to ignore the three young strangers' undisciplined minds.

On a cushion of air, the small vehicle wound its way through the tall buildings near the central square. Along the side of the roads locals turned and watched the boys as they passed, but did nothing to dissuade them or the taxi driver. When the vehicle reached the outskirts of the capital, dilapidation and decay became more apparent. Tall buildings were abandoned and weeds grew alongside the road that they took out of town. When they passed the last crumbling office building the driver stopped and looked at Alexander, apparently to get his reassurance that he was following the route they wanted.

Alexander had stopped trying to speak aloud to the man, so instead he pointed again into the distance, towards the hills. When he did the man shrugged his shoulders, pulled himself forward in his seat and started up again. Soon the deserted single- and double-storey dwellings were left behind as well.

Alexander knew about suburbs from the time spent with his grandparents on earth. In the past they had been abandoned too; he'd seen old photos of whole neighbourhoods that had emptied during WWIII when so-called clean bombs killed people but left buildings standing. Now those areas had been ploughed over and rebuilt, and Earthlings had spread back out again – not so much into suburbs, but into self-contained villages with work stations and fields, all connected by FastRail.

Alexander was jerked back to Pranek IV by the taxi's slowing once again. A glance at his surroundings showed only open fields and crumbling buildings. The driver looked at the boy quizzically, wondering if he was really meant to go forward into an area that all but a very few citizens hadn't bothered about for generations.

Though the desolate landscape didn't cheer the boy, he waved the man on. When moving forward again, Alexander turned to look at the others two. They were watching the plains, which looked a lot like the high desert on earth. They seemed content and he wondered why he felt so uneasy. Isn't this exactly what they had hoped for? He turned and faced the front, ignoring the questioning glances of the old man sitting next to him. At least we are on our way, he thought, and the driver brightened up and increased his speed.

The vehicle did not touch the ground and when the road disappeared and they moved over the dirt, thin brown dust blew sideways and the ride stayed smooth. The dust had little organic smell to it. As they crossed the open countryside the shimmering blue foothills slowly took form. But it took another half-hour of travelling at speed across ridges and gullies to reach what might be called the first hill. Then the driver slowed as he passed over dry undulating fields, nearly devoid of plants and trees, until they reached the first ridge of mountains. It rose a 800 meters from the rolling plain. Here the pungent smell of dry brush reached them, which recalled for Alexander his last visit to Qo'noS, when he slept overnight in the Drylands with his uncle. Not that the smell was exact, for he'd come to realise that each planet – and in fact, the natural vegetation in different regions of a single planet – had their own distinctive aromas.

The vehicle came to an abrupt halt beside a cliff. The boys stepped out and looked around. The rolling hills went on into the blue, hazy distance, but here they were scarred with ragged red bluffs. On top they were punctuated by spires thrusting into the sky, and at their base they met the flat plains without so much as a small rise between them. Looking along the face of the cliff they could see intermittent alluvial fans where water sometimes flowed out from the hills onto the flatlands. A hot wind blew through the spires, and made a low whistling sound. Immediately the boys stepped from the vehicle they began to sweat. The driver hadn't disembarked, but sat still watching them carefully and awaiting new instructions.

Jarok was the first to speak. "It's exactly what we need," he said enthusiastically. He turned and scanned the bluffs, looking for an entry point.

Matthew dropped his pack into the dust, which rose up and blew back towards town. He turned and watched the dust dissipate, thinking about the distance they had come.

The desolation was extreme. In no direction could they see running water. Indeed, it looked as though none had flowed out of the hills for months. The grass at their feet was stunted and parched and the steady wind that blew out of the clefts threw dry sand in their faces.

Alexander slowly turned a full 360º to take in the landscape, but said nothing. He was not about to show his concerns, for any reluctance might be taken by the older boys as fear. Instead he spoke to the driver, "you must wait for us." The man nodded, slumped back in his seat and was still. "We won't be too long." The sun rose toward the top of the sky.

Matthew picked up his pack and hefted it onto his shoulders. He followed Jarok who had moved on ahead toward a narrow gap in the cliffs. Within a couple minutes the three boys were clambering hand over foot up through a rift. Alexander took up the rear. After only a few meters Matthew slipped in the scree and Alexander caught him and pushed him forward from behind.

'Come on, hurry. Jarok's disappearing,' Alexander urged.

As they ascended and took a left at a T-junction in the canyon walls, Jarok climbed faster up through the sloping crevice on their left. As they turned the corner the young Klingon glanced back to see the stationary driver and car disappear from view.

Twenty minutes later Jarok came to a halt at the top end of the short canyon. Above the spot where Jarok stopped was a hundred-meter high wall, with ridges running vertical through the soft russet stone. "This is what we want, a place where there's rocks for the pitons." Matthew came up next to Jarok, dropped his pack at his feet and stared upward silently.

Alexander caught up with them and scanned the steep cliffs. A few small bushes hung from the canyon walls. "We might be able to climb a bit faster using those as handholds," he suggested.

Matthew glanced upward again. "We're gonna climb that?" he asked incredulously. Sweaty and dusty from the ascent through the canyon, he was a having a hard time sharing Jarok's enthusiasm, or even adopting the pragmatic attitude of the young Klingon. He sat down hard on a boulder next to his bag.

The sun had peaked and had started its long descent. It lay down shadows at the base of the cliffs though high above them sunlight reflected off the craggy outcrops. Jarok unlatched the straps of his pack, and poured out his climbing rope and a dozen pitons and carabineers, and a two-litre bottle of water. Matthew grabbed the bottle, eagerly took off the cap, leaned back and took a large swig. When he'd had his fill he passed it on to Alexander, who kneeled down beside him and drank. Jarok took the bottle last and after he took a long drink he clipped it to his waist. He looked at the sun and slowly surveyed the rock wall nearest them.

Without a word Jarok took up the rope and climbing gear and walked toward the cliff. "Here's the best place… you coming or not?"

The younger boys sat in the dirt watching Jarok. Alexander could see that Matthew was frightened, though neither wanted to admit it openly. Alexander rose slowly to his feet and urged Matthew to follow. They caught up with Jarok in the shadows at the base of the cliff just as he drove the first piton into the wall.

Far below them and unbeknownst to the boys, the Pranek driver unstretched his long legs and stepped out of his taxi for the third time. He walked around it and cleaned the windows with a rag, also for the third time since they had disappeared into the fissure. His long thin hands moved swiftly and when the vehicle was as dust-free as it was likely to get, he looked upward toward the cliffs and back toward the city shimmering in the distance.

No knowing much about the ways of children or of aliens, he was uncertain what to do. When they left he thought he'd understood from the younger one that they were coming back 'soon'. He paced toward the ridge and stretched his long neck and starred up as far as he could see into the crevice.

Maybe he hadn't 'heard' the message right? He thought about the word 'soon' and considered its many meanings. What would it mean to a boy? Soon might mean a short walk into the hills or maybe it meant they were going to sleep up there in the canyons? 'Soon' could mean minutes or days, he concluded.

The old man, like virtually all Pranek citizens, felt anxious being outside the city and away from his people. The population once had spread throughout the galaxy but had re-congregated centuries before and empty space had become, well, not frightening exactly, but no one wanted to hang about on the plains for long.

He paced the cliff walls, slowing whenever he passed the rift leading into the canyon. "Why would anyone want to climb there? he thought.

"But then, what do I know about what aliens want! Especially a child."

There were few youth on Pranek IV now and it had been a long time since he'd seen kids that age. Not that his people hated children. On the contrary, he longed to have a son like that one who had sat next to him: a strong and intelligent boy. But couples learned to suppress their desire… and their envy of the few men and women on Pranek whose bodies still produced children.

He turned away from the cliff and back toward the distant city, and thought briefly about those luscious women with rounded hips who were blessed with babies. Not like his anaemic wife, or for that matter, the majority of women, who were for all practical purposes, sterile.

He paced back to the car and again towards the cliff. He stood and stared upwards a full five minutes longer before he shrugged his narrow shoulders and clomped away from the red bluffs. Approaching the vehicle he glanced one last time over his shoulder toward the rock spires that climbed into the sky. 'Come on boys,' he thought as simply and strongly as he could. But no noise came from the cliffs except the shuffling sound of sand.

He folded himself into the driver's seat, started up the vehicle and made a big sweeping turn in the dirt. He reversed back and forth in front the cleft in the walls that the boys had disappeared into, but held little hope that the soft noise of the engine would bring them running. "Stupid boys, why don't they come?"

After circling and passing in front of the narrow gap three times he gave up. With a agonizing glance over his shoulder, he drove away toward the distant capital, trying to reassure himself that he was doing as they instructed.

In all his years as a community chauffeur he had never abandoned a passenger. Pranek's centuries-old transport system relied upon dependable drivers and their steadfast adherence to duty. Speeding back toward town he thought through his interaction with the boy again and again. "Surely I must have misunderstood him," he thought. "I got the message wrong… 'soon' must mean 'sometime later' to outlanders." He pressed hard on the accelerator and left a trail of dust in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**

**D.R. McCann**

**Chapter 6**

The lanky Questor Movid led the four Starfleet officers slowly up the wide staircase, along a broad passage and into his office. Each gaped as they entered the oversized doorway leading into the room. Riker went first, but he stopped abruptly and moved aside to make way for Deanna. The others came up sharply behind the two of them. Deanna eyes widened and she could not help making a small round O with her mouth. For Riker, the words "complete and utter chaos" came first to mind immediately he saw the room. What would the ship-shape Picard think of this? the first officer wondered. Remembering where he was, he glanced at the archivist standing next to him and quickly tried to think of something else. He noted a slight hint of a smile of Movid's lips and figured he'd probably been too slow in hiding his surprise from the telepath.

Movid's was an office of gigantic proportions. His relatively small desk was buried under papers not far from the door. And behind it were tables of all shapes and sizes. In lines across the floor were cabinets, some with transparent doors, while others were open at the front. Shelves ringed the room. Text was even chiselled into something akin to old granite slabs that leaned against a portion of the far wall.

On top of the cabinets, tables and shelves were papers and manuscripts made of various materials. The documents were piled randomly, with small files sometimes stuck underneath larger ones. Nothing was squarely stacked. Each stack was an odd shape and size, with no apparent order. Many piles leaned precariously, to the point of being unstable. Below them the cabinets and shelves were crammed full of papers until not a centimetre of free space remained. Along the walls were bookshelves and cupboards that were stacked high on one another, all the way to the ceiling in places. In these were what appeared to be old fashioned hardback books laid side by side. Scarred metal boxes with half-open lids holding maps, rolled and frayed at the edges, stuck out at odd angles from between the shelves. Nearest the windows the papers had turned yellow and brittle from decades of corrosive sunlight.

Considering that high, arched windows opened up the room on two sides, the office was surprisingly dim, as though in dusky shadow. Riker gazed upward and sought the sky through the windows, but the dirt on their exterior blocked the light. The windows seemed not to have been washed in decades, perhaps centuries. High above in the ceiling were dim lights that barely cast a shadow on the piles of books and papers below. The whole place smelled musty.

Questor Movid looked about seventy, but no one was going to jump to conclusions because the Enterprise crew had learned that the age of an alien was not easily determined. He moved slowly but he seemed never to come to rest. His constant motion gave the impression that an overactive brain kept his angular body in gear. Data took out his scanner and turned away from the rest. Holding it low and next to his hip, he surreptitiously studied the man. He was surprised to discover the archivist was much older, perhaps five times older, than he appeared.

"You could just ask," Movid said, turning to Data. "There is no need to hide your instruments." His voice was dry and it wavered, for he was unused to using it except to emphasise a point or to express pleasure or pain.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to be rude," Riker stepped forward and formally presented the group and each of the officers by name. "We just like to know who it is we are dealing with. And we know so little about your people."

"It's understandable," the old man said. He turned and led them further into his office. "This," he said, sweeping his arm in an arc around him, "is older than all of your civilizations… perhaps with the exception of Betazed," he said, nodding in Deanna's direction. He led them between two tall shelves overflowing with manuscripts, and to a set of old chairs set in a square around a low circular table. "Not the most luxurious of office suites," he said with a impish smile, "but I find it sufficient for visitors, since we don't get many of those nowadays." While he encouraged the others to sit, he perched on the front edge of a chair and fidgeted. On several occasions he half-stood before again planting himself as through an act of will.

"What is it you need from me?" he said once they were all seated. "A Starfleet vessel parked in orbit, that's all they told me. And to be ready to greet you. And to meet you. To tell you what you need to know."

Riker looked at Deanna, who was more attuned to the man's quirkiness than were the others. "There is no reason to be alarmed," she began. "We have come on a scholarly errand only."

Worf's face remained passive though he knew this statement to be a stretch of the truth. Weaponry was anything but scholarly, he mused, and then quickly tried to bury the thought.

Movid looked up and starred at Worf directly, and Deanna was aware that something had passed between them. She tried to gain control of the interchange before Worf's paranoia intensified the librarian's worries.

"We realise you are telepathic," she said to put Worf and the others on notice explicitly, "and that you may be aware of some of our concerns."

The lump at the front of the man's long neck bounced as he swallowed. He nodded and looking at Worf said, "yes, I recognise that some of you are worried about something." He seemed willing to be more explicit about what he had sensed. He looked back at Deanna and sighed, as though gaining comfort from her calm demeanour.

"We have a problem, and we are hoping you and your people can help us find a solution," she said. She was anxious not to make the presence of unexpected and perhaps unwelcomed guests any more alarming for the man than it already was.

"It seems unlikely that I, a simple librarian, can help."

"We have been led to this quadrant by an alien force and our scientists hope to learn why we were directed her." Aware that the archive stood at the centre of his life, she added: "Your library may hold the key to solving our puzzle."

He had begun to relax. The fear expressed in his twitching knees subsided and now was only evident in the fidgeting of his long, lean fingers. "I would like our Science officer to explain our dilemma," she said, pointing to Data.

The man turned to Data and blanched anew. Data read the signs and spoke hastily. "Sir, as you earlier surmised, I am an automaton and that is why you cannot read my thoughts. I was made by humanoids and I am a Starfleet officer, and my protocols were designed to ensure that I work for the betterment of the Federation. You need not fear me, sir."

The man swallowed hard again, adjusted his djellaba around his legs, and nodded. Peaking out from underneath his robe were his white, bony and restless toes, which were wrapped tight around the ends of his dark sandals. "Go ahead," he said and swallowed again.

Data began the story, though he left out some of the more worrisome details to avoid disturbing the man further. "You are aware that a planet in the Rabijan system some 20 light years from here has disappeared?"

The archivist shook his head, "no." He leaned forward in puzzlement, clearly not understanding why the disappearance of a planet he'd never heard of should affect him.

Data continued. "Yes, sir. In fact, it has moved, rather than vanished. We have tracked its direction as it appears to have, well, slid through space." Glancing at Riker he continued. "We readily admit moving a planet is quite a feat in itself – one beyond the capability and understanding of the Federation. We are here, sir, because we have discovered that its track passed near the Pranek system."

Deana sensed that the report seemed to calm him rather than upset him further. Somehow it made sense to him, she realised, perhaps more than it did to the Starfleet officers.

"Is it here?" he asked the officers.

"No," Riker picked up the story, "it isn't here, but the trail it left went near this system. We are searching for any clue that might indicate what happened to it. Yours is the most populous planet in the region and we thought your scientists might be able to help us locate it."

"We have no scientists," the librarian said, "which must be why you were sent to meet me."

"Yes, we discovered that sir, and yes, your Administrator suggested we come talk to you."

This explanation seemed to reassure the archivist further. He stood again, not from nervousness, but in order to pace away some of his excitement. His face lit up as he realised he had a captive audience, one that wanted to listen to his favourite topic of discourse: Pranek IV's glorious past. He pulled the chair closer to the table and sat again.

"Our little planet was once the centre of a vast civilization, an empire that spanned 35 light years." His eyes gleamed and his movements became fluid. He rose abruptly, walked toward the windows and pulled from a shelf a large, dusty book. He put it between them on the low table, and flipped opened the ancient cover gently. He leafed through the pages till he came to the centrefold. "Here it is."

Data was particularly intrigued. He scanned the map carefully, laying down in his positronic brain a copy of the file for later transmission to the computer on board the Enterprise, and ultimately to the Federation's archives.

"We knew the Empire was extensive, but we had no idea how big it was," Deanna said as she read his enthusiasm and tried to encourage him to talk on.

He ran his bony fingers across the map. "Yes, at its height 24,000 years ago our people traded from one end of this sector to the other. The Prime Alliance consisted of 327 planets, all swearing allegiance to the Pranek Overlord. He was a prince to be honoured … or feared." He leaned over the book a moment, as though remembering some dark secret.

When the silence loomed large, he looked up at the eager faces, shook his head and continued. "Sorry. Anyway, here on Pranek Prime rivers flowed along canals dug by huge machines. Water moved up hills and over the mountains. We cultivated crops and built cities across our deserts, out along the roads that transverse the continents. We fed and housed billions. The capital you see today stretched many miles further, and," sweeping his hand upward, "high into the air. Buildings literally grew out of the ground. Millions of people from a dozen races and all of the empire came and went, some to do business or study, others to wrangle about public affairs. Still others came to worship. Peace was extended one planet at a time, as each new star system was absorbed into the Alliance. Everything was as it should be." His eyes closed and a smile flickered across his lips as he mouthed the final words, almost like a mantra.

"Tell us about your …," Worf wanted to say weaponry, "your technology."

Movid's eyes refocused on the Klingon as he emerged from his revere. "Your race is new to me," he said with a grit heretofore unseen. "Your people are part of the Federation?"

"Klingons have been at peace for nearly 80 years. I consider myself fortunate to have been raised on Earth and to know the Federation well."

The Pranek librarian stood again and took in what he could from Worf. The Klingon's surface thoughts were easy to read: the man had pride, almost to the point of hubris, in being a Klingon. "Yours is a warrior race?" he asked.

Worf glanced at Riker who gave a slight nod. No use hiding the truth.

"Yes, we have a tradition of warcraft. We exhibit bravery in fighting our enemies and we treat our friends loyally and with honour."

Again the man stared carefully at Worf, who sat stiffly in the low chair. After a moment he turned back to Riker, seemingly satisfied by the Klingon's answer and whatever inner thoughts he had been able to read.

"Earthlings we know more about," he said to Riker. "Your history of warfare is less honourable." Riker grimaced but said nothing, and after a moment the archivist continued. "So, you want to know about our technology? Well, it was magnificent, at least equal to yours today, I would imagine."

Looking around Worf found it hard to believe. "But little of it remains?" he said.

"On the contrary, it all remains."

The Starfleet officers were surprised, but refrained from disagreeing with the man. None was going to say openly that his capital appeared run-down, even primitive.

"Please explain," Data asked.

"Well, I know that when you look around our city you might think we are pre-industrial, but that is because our industry is not evident. We don't have apparatuses like chimney stacks, electric lines, or communications towers as evidence that our industry survives. Nor do we have pollution. These are things of the past. No, what physical plant exists is underground, well out of sight. Or it's so small it fits into a room, or is in orbit around Pranek Prime."

"But accessible?" Riker asked.

"Barely, as it never needs repair, or very rarely, and it operates smoothly without input from us."

Riker looked uncomfortable but had to ask the question. "Not to be discourteous, sir, but everything seems so, well, dilapidated. And there are only a few hundred thousand residents in the capital. Nor are their millions coming to visit. Why is that?"

"I do not take your question as rude because it is based on accurate observations, no doubt from your ship. The reasons our empire declined are historical and no amount of recriminating about the past will change those."

"We would agree sir," Riker said. "In fact, we tend to think that by reappraising our history we can continue to learn from it. We hope to avoid making the same mistakes twice that way."

"Ah, but that belief assumes that you have the capacity to make changes, or to take control of your existence, to be the creative force of your history," the archivist said. "That is a determination we ourselves cannot make."

"I do not follow," Data interjected.

Riker agreed, thinking that if Data did not understand what the man meant it was certain that none of the others would.

Data continued. "You have free will, sir? You are in control of your lives? I saw nothing since arriving here to indicate that you are in bondage."

"Ah, bondage is such a simple concept," the librarian said with some sadness. "What we have is far worse."

#

At first the climb seemed easy. The equipment was new, almost as if it had never been used. "My dad likes to rock climb," Jarok said. "But he hardly does it anymore. This gear was in his locker." He climbed another meter, stopped to hammer in a piton, and continued. "When we visited Earth, he used to take me … but he's too busy now …" His voice trailed off, unable to openly express the frustration, even sadness, that he felt as a result of his father's inaccessibility.

Because he was the most eager Jarok led the pack. Behind him Matthew clipped on the line, while Alexander waited a moment to watch their progress and then clipped on beneath Matthew. Below him the bright red rope snaked down the cliff wall. Jarok demonstrated his skill as he sought and found handholds as he climbed. Where there were none, he drove in pitons as he'd been taught.

"Better than climbing in the holodeck!" he shouted to the two below him. They grunted in return and focused on the work at hand. He led the two novices slowly but relentlessly upward.

Jarok was the strongest of the three but it still took him half an hour to rise twenty meters above the canyon floor. Wondering if the transport driver was getting tired of waiting for them, Alexander urged Matthew to climb faster. Dangling and twisting away from the cliff, the young Klingon tried to spot the vehicle on the plain. But because they had climbed up through the gorge, he wasn't able to see where they had left it. Frustrated with Matthew's slow progress, the Klingon urged him upward. "Come on, we got to hurry. Do you want us to be late and end up on the transporter deck at the same time the away-team returns?"

"But I can't," the boy whimpered.

Alexander had not noticed previously, but now he saw that Matthew was near paralyzed with fear and close to tears. He didn't know if it was fear of getting caught or fear of heights that had the welled up inside Matthew, but the Klingon recognised that more gentleness was needed. Yelling at him would only make his anxiety worse and the boy could end up stuck on the face of the cliff.

"You're doing fine," Alexander said calmly. "Just one hand over another. Find a new foothold before you release from the old one."

Matthew breathed deep and started again, doing as he was told. He was visibly relieved when he'd climbed another metre to a small ledge. Alexander watched him scaled the perch and thought that if the boy had a patient climbing partner, he could possibly come to enjoy the sport.

"Come on you two," Jarok shouted from above. "This is easy. Isn't this fun?"

Alexander figuratively bit his tongue, thinking that Jarok's attitude was not helping the younger boy climb any faster. "Ignore him," Alexander said to Matthew in a low voice. The boy looked down and smiled at his Klingon friend a few feet below him.

As soon as there was slack on the rope between Jarok and Matthew, the lead climber started up again. "Wait a minute," Alexander yelled to the Jarok, "we need to go a bit slower."

Alexander knew that he was doing fine. His practice on the artificial walls in the Enterprise's holodeck had helped him develop the skills needed to scale the cliff. But he was also naturally daring, not fearless, but more willing to test his limits and more capable than his friend Matthew at containing his qualms and of facing danger head on.

"Hey, you are holding us back," the older boy yelled at Matthew, who had come to rest again, near spread-eagled, with his hands and feet firmly placed in holes in the cliff five meters below the leader. "I am going to unclip and go on up," Jarok shouted.

"No," Alexander and Matthew yelled in unison, even as Jarok unhooked from the rope and free-climbed upward.

"Come on Jarok, just wait," Alexander shouted upward.

Jarok reached the lip of the cliff and threw himself over the top, disappearing from sight onto a wide shelf thirty-plus meters above the canyon floor.

Matthew felt pressured to move faster and reached upward, placing his hand in a crack on the wall. He wriggled his right foot onto a 3 cm. ledge and pushed upwards, keeping his legs and body flat against the rock-face. Alexander, a metre lower down, followed him upward and within ten minutes they were standing on a narrow ledge. Nearby the rope had been tied off on a piton by Jarok before he disappeared upward.

"Hey you babies," the Bajoran boy sniggered as he peered over the edge. "I was climbing things this easy when I was a kid."

"Wait up," Alexander shouted back. "We are having a rest."

Matthew looked down over the 30 cm ledge and his knees almost gave way.

"Don't look down," Alexander said and pushed his friend back against the wall. "It's the worst thing you can do!'

"Alexander," Matthew said in a whimpering tone that Alexander recognised as sheer fright. "I don't want to go any higher. I can't go any higher." He turn around on the ledge, bent his knees, back to the wall, and sat down on his heels, trying not to look at the canyon floor below.

"Okay, you stay here and I'll go get Jarok," Alexander said to his friend.

"But you'll come back? You won't leave me here?" the younger boy pleaded.

Alexander nodded his assurance, put his hand upward, reached into a crack in the wall and pulled himself upward. He looked up and could see the bottom of Jarok's shoe dangling several meters ahead of him. "Come on down, Jarok. We are going to get caught if we are late returning to the ship."

"No way," Jarok said. He had sat on the edge and was swinging his legs. "There's more cliff up here, maybe 10 meters higher to go. From the top we should be able to see the city."

Jarok jumped up from sitting, and a bit of the dry cliff wall broke under is feet. Rocks rained down the soft sandy walls. "Wow, that was close!' he said with a hearty laugh. "No safety protocols here."

Alexander stopped as small stones and dirt bounced around him. He watched them careen down toward the ledge below where they hit Matthew on the shoulders and head. The boy looked up and shouted, "hey, look out," and covered his scalp with his arms.

Jarok looked down between his feet to Alexander a few meters below him and to Matthew on the cliff ledge further down. "Come on you guys! I'm not going to stop because you two babies want to." That's the whole point of this, he thought: to prove who is best, who is closer to becoming a man. Who is the strongest. The bravest. "You're cowards! Both of you," he said as he started up again.

He decided to ascend the last stretch of cliff without a rope, and if the others weren't brave enough to follow him, they could just sit there and wait. He reached with his right hand and placed it in a deep crevasse where prehistoric rain had loosened the grainy soil and wind had scoured out the rock. He pulled himself upward and let loose with his left hand. His right foot was firmly placed in a toehold and he reached with his left to find another foothold. As he did so the handful of rock broke loose from the wall and he found his right hand grasping at thin air. He tried grabbing the cliff with his left hand, but there was no handhold to be found. His body broke loose from the only toehold he had.

Alexander tried to catch him as he went by, but he fell too fast. The Klingon managed only to touch Jarok's shoulder and then he was gone.

Unaware of what was happening above him, Matthew was sitting with his head on his tightly tucked knees. He looked up when he heard Jarok scream and was hit in the face by several stones that ricocheted off him and fell with a clatter to the canyon floor far below. Without warning, Jarok landed on Matthew's left shoulder, and bounced toward the edge of the narrow ledge. In an instance, the younger boy grabbed him and they teetered a moment together before Matthew pulled the Bajoran back to safety. Jarok, who had hit his head against the rock wall at least twice on his way down, was only half-conscious. He was also bleeding, and his upper leg rested on the narrow ledge at an odd angle.

"Help! Alexander! help me!" Matthew screamed as he struggled to hold the larger boy from rolling off the ledge. "He's going to fall. He's too heavy."

"I'm coming," Alexander yelled and hurriedly found toe holds in the wall and climbed back down.

It took him more than a minute to descend back to the ledge. Standing with his back against the wall, he helped Matthew pull Jarok fully onto the narrow stone shelf. Laying on his back and with blood flowing out of his nose, Jarok took up the full width of the rocky ledge.

"Hold him still or he'll roll off," Alexander said as he tiptoed over the two others. Alexander found a perch and sat at Jarok's feet, resting his hand on the boy's good leg. Matthew tightly held the Bajoran's shoulders.

Alexander groaned deeply when he got settled "That was close."

Matthew began to weep aloud this time, not caring who heard him. Alexander felt much the same way but wasn't going to shed tears. He said nothing and let the boy cry. His sobbing trailed off after a couple minutes and he wiped his nose on his sleeve and took a deep breath. In a voice with barely a shake, Matthew asked, "well, what are we going to do now?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Of Noble Heart: Star Trek, TNG**

**Chapter 7**

Riker, Deanna, Data and Worf sat in silent wonderment, waiting for Questor Movid to continue. When he did not, Deanna gently asked him to explain, "what can be worse than bondage?"

"It's a long story my Betazoid friend." Movid moved his chair to face Deanna. Not only was she a beautiful woman, but she expressed an eagerness to listen to his tale. He leaned toward her, keen to continue. "We were strong once, as I have said. A widespread empire, wealthy, productive, powerful. At the centre of it was the Prime and his Council, and above him were the Assessors." He looked around at their bemused faces, and continued. "You've probably never heard of the Assessors. But for us they were gods."

"You worshipped them?" Deanna asked.

"More than that, we relied on them to organise and manage our lives. To solve our daily problems, to govern us, to keep us healthy. Our religion was not one of the spirit only. It concerned our everyday existence as well. The Assessors gave us our laws, they punished us when we transgressed, and they rewarded us when we behaved."

Riker was amused. "Sounds like a father."

"Exactly. That's what they were, our fathers."

"In the metaphorical sense," Deanna added.

"No, in every sense."

"Please explain yourself, sir," Data interrupted. "I am not sure we are following you."

"When the Assessors came here eons before, they found us living in the dirt. We were simple hunters then, maybe a bit of herding but subsisting only. Our lives were brutish and we made little technological or social progress from one generation to the next. Our science, if that is what it should be called, was primitive. We could barely read and the simplest diseases killed us; a third of our children died every year from illnesses that could have been cured had we had even a basic understanding of medicine. Also, we were factionalised and slaughtered one another in fights over resources. We went to war to defend our foolish beliefs. Hubris led to more than one conflict."

"This sounds like the history of any number of underdeveloped civilisations, many of which are now members of the Federation," Riker said.

"That may be so, but what happened to us was unique." The old man smiled at each in turn. "Within a generation all of that changed. Out of the sky, much like yourselves I might add, came the Assessors. They ruled through fear at first, but as soon as we saw the righteousness of their ways, they loosened the reins and led through example. They taught us how to increase production, first in agriculture and later in other, more developed ways, so that we could not only feed ourselves, but we could provide for our neighbours as well. Soon we produced sophisticated goods and surpluses to trade, and we began to use our earnings to invest in education, improved sanitation, better health care and the like. Our children lived longer and with genetic engineering, the life span of our whole race was extended. We no longer lived 40, 80 or even 150 years, but 6, 7 or 800. That gave us time to travel the galaxy, much like you do now."

"But warp drive? Did you develop it?" Worf asked. It was clear to Riker that the security officer's mind was still running along the same weapons-related track. But that was as it should be.

"No, we did not develop it ourselves, but were given the capacity to fly at warp speed and beyond by the Assessors, who encouraged us to reach outward. Into the void, where they had come from."

"And your weapons?" Worf asked. "Did you get weapons from the Assessors too?"

"Of course, it was all part of their package. Their technology extended our lives, our productivity, our understanding, and it allowed us to visit and then to colonize other planets. Their assistance helped us fight better and so, ultimately, to fight fewer wars."

None of the four officers showed their astonishment but each was surprised by the tale. Each had been prepared to hear that this sleepy planet and its people were once rulers of the region, for the database on the _Enterprise_ had told them that. But they had not expected to learn that an alien species – whoever these Assessors were – had been the moving force behind their development and expansion. What happened to the notion that a species, a planet, was to progress at its own speed without interference from outside? Had the Federation's Prime Directive been adopted here the people of Pranek IV would perhaps be hunters still.

"Yes, we are lucky," Movid said, reading their minds. "Our development was accelerated and we progressed and expanded faster than anyone could have expected."

"It's not clear to me," Data stated. "Did the Assessors live among you? Or did they provide these benefits from afar?"

"Yes, oh yes," he said ecstatically. "They lived with us, they walked among us. They married some of our women, and even today, some of us carry their genes. We were loved by them."

Riker shifted in his seat, thinking of the desolation they had seen outside the building. Pranek was hardly the success story Questor Movid made it out to be, or at least, it wasn't any longer.

"But what happened?" Data asked, as though he had read Riker's thoughts. "Your society is no longer spacefaring, nor is Pranek IV a bustling planet today." He said this without malice, simply as a statement of fact.

Where the curator of antiquities had shed years and been animated when he spoke of the past, now he slumped forward like the old man he was. His face fell into folds. "Ah, that's the thing, isn't it? What happened."

None replied, for his words expressed a forlorn resignation too painful to interrupt. They waited in silence.

"After living among us for generations, millennia," he signed, "our gods departed." He sat wordless, deep in thought.

When the man went no further, Deanna softly asked, "but why?"

"That's it, we never knew why. One day they were here and then the next day they abandoned us. They left us their technology, their laws, their genetic material and like all good servants, we have maintained them the best we can. For centuries after they left, the Prime Alliance flourished, but slowly our boundaries slipped inwards as the most advanced subjects in the empire rose up and demanded their independence. We have maintained the engines – below ground, in orbit, and tucked away in the corners of Pranek Prime – but we have lost the ability to improve on them."

"But where did the Assessors go?" Riker asked.

"For generations we searched for them, but they were gone. Without a trace. It was as though they didn't want us to follow them, or to find them."

"But _why_?" Worf said with emphasis. The three officers looked at him with surprise, for his words expressed an emotion that the others did not share. "Why would your gods _abandon_ you? Surely one of your people did something to anger them?"

"We thought so too. 'Why have we been forsaken?' we asked our priests, and they performed rituals, even sacrifices, in an attempt to woe them back. But all that failed. The Assessors simply stopped loving us and left. We have come to accept that now," he said with resignation. "In the end we did not warrant their love and protection perhaps, but we never learned what had changed."

Data returned to the point of the interview. "Sir, you can tell us nothing then about the beings who now live in this part of the galaxy? Nor where your benefactors now reside?"

"We know little about what happens off-planet nowadays, even in close proximity to Pranek Prime. We don't innovate or try to improve on what the Assessors left us. Seldom do any of us leave here. As you can see," sweeping his hand toward the dirty windows, "we don't even have the resources to keep our capital city in the manner it deserves. And few of our people venture far outside the central districts. A small group of citizens who retain a pioneering spirit wander outside the city into the hills nearby here, but that group is small and diminishing every year. We have no information about our neighbours off-world that you in the Federation wouldn't have or couldn't get. That said, I am sure our administration will share all the information it has about the planets and beings that once made up the Prime Empire."

"Perhaps your scientists…" Riker began, but was cut off by the older man.

"As I said, we have none. What use are scientists without scientific enquiry? When we were in our infancy we knew nothing of science. When the Assessors lived among us, they provided us with scientific miracles. Scientists weren't necessary then either. And since they left, we have struggled to hold on to what we have. Our priests may be able to help you, but their information will be little different than mine, though more wrapped up in the mythologies of faith."

"May we look at your technologies?" Worf asked, returning to his security concerns.

"I am sure it can be arranged, but you will have to explain yourselves to the authorities. They will want to know what you are looking for."

"We are prepared to do that," Riker assured him. "We are trying to find out what happened to Rabijan IX, and to the civilization that flourished there." Though an honest explanation, he was aware that he had omitted mentioning the missing Federation scientists and the human skeleton. On the other hand, Riker knew Movid was well aware of much of what they had left unsaid but was on their minds. "We are keen to meet your administrators and to see your machines."

"One last question, if you don't mind sir," Data said as they all began to rise. "Can you tell us in which direction your gods departed? Is there a record of the time they left?"

Movid rose and signalled for them to follow. They trailed after the archivist through a maze of cupboards and cases piled high, until they reached a large cupboard in the middle of the room. He reached to the lowest shelf for a bound volume covered in a red synthetic material resembling old fashioned leather. "This is a record of that day. It is not unlike passages from our liturgy, which tell the same story. But I like to think of this as more factual than the account the priests relate because it was recorded by an ancestor of mine, another librarian, who witnessed the events." He opened to a page near the front of the book and translated the passage.

_The Godly Ones gathered their families, including the wives and children of Pranek Prime, and walked onto the desert. There the Elder spoke to the crowd that had assembled, explaining that He loved the people of Pranek and their neighbours. One of the people rose up and asked Him, "then why abandon us? What error have we committed? What wrong have we done unto you?" The Elder answered so all the crowd could hear: "You have done no wrong, but we must leave you. It is time for you to follow your own ways and to choose your own path." The people cried and beat their breasts. "We need you," one woman shouted, and the Elder pointed to the sky and said, "but we are only going there. And from that place we will watch after you." The Elder and the Godly Ones, numbering over one thousand, went away from the people and deep into the field. When they arrived there the sky shimmered and a sound of chimes bellowing in the wind was heard by the people. Then the Godly Ones were gone. The people of Pranek Prime threw themselves on the ground and wept._

"But where was "there"?" Data asked.

The old man flipped the pages to one page stuck tightly in the middle of the book. It was crafted from a material similar to velum, which he removed and unfolded. It was a star chart of the sky as seen from Pranek IV.

"This was once our Empire," he said, dragging his hand across a large section of the page. It made the same shape as the map he'd shown them earlier. "This is the direction the Gods pointed when they spoke that day." He put his long white finger against the right margin and indicated a place near the edge of the map. "We have since that day called it the Veil of Tears."

#

As the sun lowered it struck them square in the face and waves of heat reflected off the hard, narrow shelf where the boys perched. Between the two younger boys Jarok lay on his back, unconscious and still. Alexander kept a hand on Jarok's good leg to steady him and periodically nudged him in the hope that he'd wake up. Matthew vacillated between weeping and going quiet, at which point he seemed almost to be asleep – so much so that Alexander decided to clasp his hand, to ensure the younger boy didn't slide off the ledge either.

Alexander, who had been in difficult situations in the past, thought about their predicament and realised that no one was going to come rescue them. They had carefully planned their departure from the _Enterprise_ so that no one would know they were off the ship. No one knew where they were, except the taxi driver and who knows what that odd old man would do. Also, Matthew was now too scared even to look over the ledge, let alone move off it. The Klingon realised that the boy was incapable of seeing the larger picture; Matthew wept because he knew they were in trouble, but he didn't really understand the full extent of it.

Matthew stirred from his near-trance state, realised again where he was, and glanced at Alexander. Without a word he stared directly forward, not once looking down.

"Even if Jarok wakes up he isn't going to be able to climb down the rock face," Alexander said softly to his young friend. "Nor is he going to be able to walk out of the canyon. The only solution is for one of us to go find the man who drove us here and have him come help us."

"But I can't get off the cliff," Matthew said, starting to shake again just at the thought of climbing down the rope.

"Then you are going to have to wait here with Jarok and make sure he doesn't roll off the ledge."

"But you can't leave me alone." The boy began to weep again.

They sat there discussing their predicament for nearly 20 minutes, bringing them no closer to figuring out how to get the bigger boy off the wall. They acknowledged to one another that Jarok was in serious trouble – at best concussed and probably worse. His breathing was slow and laboured, and his leg had bled where it was broken. They had less than a single bottle of water between them, and the heat and their talking only deepened their thirst.

Alexander thought that Matthew was probably in shock and was looking to him for their salvation. He felt the weight of that responsibility and considered how he was going to rescue them. They reviewed the list of climbing supplies they had, analysed the situation thoroughly once more, and fell silent again, each deep in his own thoughts. Alexander used the opportunity to ponder what Worf might do if faced with such a problem. He concluded that his father would not have lied in the first place or found himself in such a precarious situation, which did nothing to raise his spirits and only lessened his confidence in finding a solution.

"Okay," Alexander concluded aloud, "you don't want me to leave but then how are we going to get out of here? Can either of you climb down." Appealing to the boy's better judgement was a first step; losing his temper with him would only be counterproductive.

Matthew looked up, wiped his tears and considered Alexander's words. The Klingon stayed silent for a moment to let the boy work out the options for himself. "No," he finally whispered a reply.

"So, neither of you can climb so that means I must go and get the transport and you must wait here with Jarok."

"I'll wait here," the boy said in a low voice.

"Ok. I will be back in a half hour," Alexander said as he stood and dusted himself off. He took the rope from Matthew and the pitons and carabiners from the sling on Jarok's waist. He handed one end of the rope to Matthew, and pounded a piton in the wall just below the ledge. He clipped on. "This is a start," he said to the boy, who had begun to shake again. "I will be back as soon as possible. Just wait here and don't move till I return. That's all you have to do. Don't move. And keep Jarok from hurting himself worse. Put a bit of water on his lips every half-hour or so, just a little bit. Don't drink the rest yourself. Save it as long as you can."

"But what about you? Won't you be thirsty?" Matthew asked as Alexander laid down near the edge.

"No, I will be fine, it's just a quick trip to the vehicle and back."

With that, Alexander gently slid over the ledge and found his footing in a crevice below. He descended slowly, well aware that he was climbing without a partner, and that if he fell, he had no one to help him. He felt confident of his skills though, and moved slowly down the face of the cliff just like his father had taught him on the gym wall.

When he reached the bottom he called up to Matthew, who yelled back that he was alright. "Just stay there. I _will_ come back," Alexander said as he untied the rope and dropped the climbing gear. He turned one last time to look at the two boys on the cliff. From this vantage point he could see just how perilous their situation was. If he didn't return, no one would ever find them stuck up there. He waved toward Matthew and sprinted out through the narrow gorge, the way they had come.

He scampered down through the rocks at the base of the hills and in twenty minutes he saw where the cliffs opened up into the rift, and the valley spread out onto the plains. Between the cliffs in the distance the flatlands shimmered in the heat and a haze hung in the air, making it impossible to see any more than a faint outline of the capital city in the distance.

Running out through the crevice Alexander drew up short for he expected to see the vehicle and driver sitting where the boys had left them. But the landscape was bare for as far as he could see. He turned a full circle, checking the horizon and making sure he had exited the canyon where they had entered the cliffs a couple hours earlier. Yes, it's the same place, he reassured himself. "But where is the driver?" he said aloud to the wind.

He turned another 360º to scan the bush in more detail. He bent and looked closely at the light brown soil and saw the smudged footprints they had left when trekking into the hills. He followed them back to the exact place the vehicle had stopped. He stood there a full minute, looking into the distance and recalling the conversation he and the driver had had. Surely, he understood what 'wait' means!

He bent again, this time near the vehicle's track marks, to look for footprints. He saw the man's prints, laid down as he paced back and forth. But there was no one there now and Alexander had no option but to draw the unhappy conclusion that the driver had not waited as asked. The boy looked again toward the horizon, and the shimmering city in the distance. "He's driven off and left us," he said to himself. He felt like crying, but no reputable Klingon would do such a thing and so he used an expletive he had learned on Earth instead.

For the first time since Jarok had climbed off without them, which to Alexander's mind was the same as acting irresponsibly, he felt like howling. Moreover, Alexander had counted on the old man to do as he'd been asked and to wait for them. And he had counted on Matthew … to what? Not get scared? How realistic was that, knowing his friend? And of course no one had counted on Jarok falling. Making their plans aboard the _Enterprise_ they had been sure they'd be safe on their little hike and climb into some _real_ hills. Thinking about it now, he could see that any one of them could have been hurt, and could now be passed out and stuck on the cliff… even him. At the same time, though, Alexander was convinced that Jarok had brought it upon himself by acting so foolhardy. Had they been clipped together as climbers are meant to be, the accident could have been prevented. Had they slowed down to the pace of the weakest climber, they would have all been safe.

He sat hard on a boulder near where the vehicle had rested and considered his options. He could return to Jarok and Matthew… but for what? He alone couldn't get them off the ledge. Nor could he make more water. Alternatively, he could walk back to the city. He could see it in the hazy distance. He thought again about what Worf would do. Thinking through the tough times the older Klingon had faced, Alexander knew what had to be done. He had little choice in the matter: Jarok's and Matthew's lives were in his hands.

Looking around him and being the pragmatist his heritage had shaped, he was also as aware as any Klingon youth could be of the danger he now faced: walking through a semi-desert without water in the heat of the day.

"Well, we wanted a challenge," he muttered aloud as he set off for the city shimmering in the distance.


End file.
